Aincrad Combined Arms Online
by Walking Man
Summary: Instead of a fantasy MMO, 100,000 players are stuck in a nightmare war for the continent of Aincrad. Whilst Kirito does his thing, two English guys try not to die. Pick up your rifle and get ready to plant some IEDs, because this is Aincrad Combined Arms Online. OC heavy; contains violence, harsh language and some adult themes, rated M to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello potential readers, and welcome to my first attempt at a fan fiction story. Please feel free to give this a read; if you like it, then great, and please tell me what you think. If you don't like it so much, then that's okay too, and I would appreciate hearing your thoughts all the same. This story is based on an idea partly explored on the Sufficient Velocity forums that was basically a cross over of Jagged Alliance and SAO. While good, it is now either dormant or dead, unfortunately. This was the initial inspiration. The main inspiration now is ARMA 3 and SAO. Please enjoy._

 _Also, Sword Art Online belongs to Reki Kawahara, Aniplex USA and A-1 pictures. SAO and its characters belong to them. Most of the other stuff is mine, except for some of the stuff based in other works. Any similarities to persons living or dead are mostly unintentional, except for where they aren't. Check out the actual SAO because it's mostly good fun, except for the Filler. Enjoy._

Part 1: The Death Game

Chapter 1

Reid Collins

"Yeah, I got my Nerve Gear set up," I say into the mobile phone. "It was a bit fiddly, but it works now. What about you?"

" _Easy_ ," says my best friend, Ronan Hamilton, from his bedroom a few streets away in this minor English city. " _You should really let me talk to you about computers one of these days._ "

I look at the smart glass display next to my bed, a low-slung ridiculously comfortable futon. The time and date blink in the right hand side of the mirror: _09:45:23 27/06/2052_. It is the summer holidays, and Ronan and I have just finished our A-Level exams. In addition to the general revelling and chilling out, Ronan and I managed to score ourselves a set of Nerve Gear each, a new VR gaming device, and a copy of the first game for this new system: Aincrad Combined Arms Online, a military simulation MMO developed by the pioneer of VR tech: Kayaba Akihiko. He was rumoured to have helped the American and Japanese militaries develop the tech in the mid 2030s, before the benefits of the project were spread to Canada, the UK (which somehow managed to remain a major world player after the fiascos of the 2010s), South Korea, Australia, New Zealand, and lastly to a resurgent South Africa after it consolidated control in the region in the wake of the 2033 African famines. Okay, forget rumour; it's basically an open secret.

The initial software was a military simulator designed to train soldiers in all aspects of modern warfare- not in the operation of complex military equipment, which requires real-life training, but in tactics of all kinds. This would include guerrilla warfare and insurgencies, counter-insurgency and counter-terrorism, combined arms, urban warfare, arctic warfare, jungle warfare, squad tactics, and more. There was some contention over how realistic the original training programs were, but this was dispelled when Kayaba went public with the VR tech in the form of the Nerve Gear V1.0 and the beta for the first VR game, ACAO. One year ago, 1000 Beta Testers from the eight countries to directly receive Kayaba's VR tech were invited on an all-expenses-paid trip to Japan, to play the game at the headquarters of Kayaba's company, Argus.

The Beta Testers were paid exorbitant amounts to find any flaw in the game, and to keep quiet about most of the details except for approved information. From what little the Beta Testers revealed, ACAO was exceedingly realistic- almost too realistic for the tastes of some- with extremely sophisticated AI routines that made the entire game a challenge. ACAO was supposedly based off the original military simulation program, using much of the same programming and assets; however, instead of being used to simulate real-world environments, Kayaba had opted for a fictional world named Aincrad. He had stated in an interview that he had originally intended to make some weird fantasy-style floating castle, but had decided otherwise after his work for the military changed his vision. Now he wanted a game where players would band together for a common cause to become stronger than they could ever be individually, where tactics and teamwork mattered, where men and women working together could build their own stories, rather than one player beasting a level solo.

" _Let's talk tactics,_ " Ronan says. " _You cover, I charge?_ "

"Sounds good, but I think we'll have to see what things are like when we start playing," I say. "The weapon ballistics are meant to be pretty on-point, so airsoft tactics won't necessarily work. Cover and concealment will be key. To be fair, most of the shots we fire will be to supress the enemy. So… that part will be kind of like airsoft, I guess?"

" _You know way too much about this stuff_ ," Ronan says as I look over my airsoft equipment tucked neatly away in the walk-in cupboard. I smile, close the door and walk over to the bed where the Nerve Gear headset lies waiting, the lead connecting to my computer.

"Sorry," I say. "I understand that this is part of the reason why I can't get a girlfriend."

" _Don't worry about it. What about gear? Shall we try and pick out something similar to our airsoft stuff?_ "

"Apparently, the gear system works in a way that makes older stuff available at the start, before newer equipment becomes available. We won't be able to get our current equipment yet. I was thinking SURPAT; it's an old Russian digital camouflage, not too dissimilar to what we wear now. I could send you a picture?"

" _No need, I'll check it out. What about guns?_ "

"Pick what you like. I'll see what they have." I look over at the clock, and decide it's time to get a move on. "Okay, look, it's almost time to start. I'll meet you at the edge of the parade ground in the Starting City; failing that, just PM me, and we'll find somewhere to meet up."

" _Got it. Have fun_."

"Yeah. You, too," I say, and disconnect. I finish my sandwich- I get the feeling that we'll be at it for a while, so have had a sizeable brunch- and put a post-it note on the opposite side of the bedroom door telling my family to stay out, before I head over to the bed. I pick up the headset, and turn it over in my hands. It is well made, with all of the tech contained within a smooth white carbon-fibre helmet. There is a comfortable lining to prevent chafing, and an opaque visor extends down over the eyes. Here goes nothing. I place it on my head, and lie down over the covers, getting myself comfortable, before I flip the activation switch and say: "Link, start."

The helmet powers up, and my mind is thrust into a hurricane of colourless static. Blooms of colour erupt across my vision, which suddenly seems limitless, before it narrows down to the usual field of view. The colours blur into featureless white, and a series of status displays collect, one after the other, at the edges of my vision. They then clear, and the function menu appears, in addition to a sense of place as my default avatar- generated from the data provided by the sensor pads that I was required to plaster all over my body before setup- forms in the black glittering space. There are a series of options for controlling Nerve Gear functions, friend lists, social networking, etcetera. I select the option titled GAME LIBRARY, and select the only game present- Aincrad Combined Arms Online.

Another rushing sensation and I'm in front of the title menu. The user interface is clean and polished, and superimposed over banks of windows displaying aerial footage of a fire-fight in a sub-tropical environment, overlain with military-looking graphics- targeting data and vectors, icons for units, and smaller boxes displaying thermal imagery of the same scenes.

"Smooth," I comment to myself as a window opens informing me that I must create a character. Three options are presented: choose a random avatar; create a new avatar; or use existing avatar, which, after selecting the information icon for this option, I determined to use the sensor data to reproduce my actual appearance. I initially play around with the avatar creator, experimenting with different appearances. First I try replicating fictional characters; then exaggerated body builder physiques; then absurdly pretty male characters; then absurdly pretty female characters; then a bunch of other avatars. Finally tiring of this, I choose to use the sensor data to emulate my own appearance, before tweaking it a bit into a form that I find was interesting, but not in an exaggerated fashion.

Satisfied, I progress to the next stage. At this point, there are no options for specialisations; that will come later, after I have played the game enough to decide and train. For now, I am offered the equipment selection screen.

Here, I decide to enjoy myself. I play around with numerous load outs; the equipment available all dates back to the 2000s and early 2010s, so I am restricted to older equipment that is marginally less effective than modern products. As I told Hamilton, I decide to choose the SURPAT Russian commercial digital camouflage pattern for my equipment. In real life, it was only used by a select number of paramilitary units. The colour scheme is that of muted grey-greens, brown, and black, ideal for temperate woodland.

For clothes, I choose a high-necked UBACS shirt, Crye Precision-style combat trousers, and a MOLLE tactical armour vest, all in the SURPAT pattern, and a black tactical helmet with up-armour side covers attached to the side rails that cover my ears and a set of old-style NVGs on the forward mount. After some consideration, I decide to add some extra plating to the helmet to give myself some more protection, and a pair of combat goggles whose elastic straps attach to the side rails. As an afterthought, I take a backpack, a black shemagh, and pads for my elbows. No pads for my legs are needed, as the combat trousers already have integrated pads at the knees. I then select a universal pistol holster for my right hip and a thigh pad with MOLLE straps for my left thigh. Time to choose my weapons.

I choose a HK416D assault rifle on a whim as my primary. Essentially, it is a classier Heckler and Koch remodelling of the old M4 carbine, using a different firing system and a mechanism that was found to be more reliable than the original M4. The D version is the short-barrelled version, better for CQC. I also pack a suppressor, but relegate that to a pouch at my belt. At this stage, not many attachments are available for purchase and I'm running out of funds considering I still need to buy a sidearm, so I choose a quick-release ELCAN combat scope- the singular variable-zoom version, as opposed to the version with a back-up mini-red-dot-sight on top. That I keep in the backpack for when I need it. My side arm is a HK USP tactical chambered for .45 calibre; I also pack a suppressor for it. Numerous frag and smoke grenades follow. Lastly, I take a long combat knife and mount it to my belt. A few more odds and ends go into my backpack, and then I am ready.

I press enter, and for a few moments the screens displaying the aerial surveillance footage switch to a satellite view of the world of Aincrad, before centring on the main continent: to the east, the continent itself, while to the west a string of islands of all sizes stretch laterally, mainly to the north of the equator but occasionally dipping slightly south of that line. It is clear that a wide range of biomes, environments and ecologies will be represented. The satellite view centres on the western-most island, its info tag identifying it as the Isle of Mullira, and zooms down onto a port city at the edge of flat meadowlands with a large parade ground in the centre probably capable of holding every player in the game and then some. There is another rushing- and slightly terrifying- sensation as the view zooms in further and gravity seems to orientate forwards, and the next thing that I know I am standing in the bright sunshine of the parade ground.

The simulation is amazing. There are certain things missing- the warmth of the sun on my skin is muted; smells have less intensity; everything feels like a slightly low-rent version of reality. But it was never going to be perfect. Give it a few more years, and they'll have the processing power and the technology to make it indistinguishable.

As it is, the graphics look real enough to fool my brain into thinking that I really am stood in the centre of a vast parade ground of pale granite, sail-shaped buildings of white synthetic materials and glass soaring over Mediterranean-style houses in the distance, a light scattering of wispy clouds in the sky, low hills and small mountains in the far distance to the east visible behind mid-rise buildings. There is a light breeze playing across my skin and tugging at the edges of my combat gear, and my HK416 hangs down my chest from its tactical sling, swaying slightly. I jump up and down a couple of times; except for some slightly odd inconsistencies- which you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking for them- the pull of gravity feels real. I smile.

After observing my surroundings for a moment, I decide to get a move on and swipe downwards to open up my menu, and select the PM option, using Hamilton's username of Lawman. I send him a message detailing my appearance and location, and wait. Sure enough, a couple of minutes I see a lone figure running towards me from somewhere across the parade ground, waving madly.

"Reid! Reid!"

"Over here," I shout, waving back. It takes a minute for us to close the distance; as we meet, we hug and slap each other on the back. Hamilton is wearing fatigues similar to mine, but of a different style, whilst still bearing the SURPAT pattern. He wears black body armour over this, an olive green shemagh, and a MICH helmet with a SURPAT helmet cover and NVGs on the front. His assault rifle dangles on its sling; I am surprised, as in most other games, Hamilton has a tendency to use automatic battle rifles. As for his avatar, he obviously used the sensor data as a base, and worked outwards. Hamilton in real life is reasonably tall, a bug guy with a build that indicates a past interest in rugby and a current interest in beer, and a thick, well-groomed beard. Here, he is a muscly and heavily bearded operator, operating operationally that happens to bear a slight resemblance to the real Hamilton. I find it quite amusing- especially as he has no idea of the internet memes about stereotypically Special Forces Uber-Operators with absurdly manly beards also operating operationally.

"Ready to kill some f- _blarp_ -ers?" he asks as we break apart, the automatic profanity filter warping the word. I chuckle.

"You get that this is meant to be a co-op game, right?" I say.

"Sure, sure," he says. "It's just, I have to go to work at six. I want to fit in as much gameplay as possible before then."

"Even allowing for an hour to get ready and walk there, and half an hour for a lunch break, that's still, like, six and a half hours," I point out.

"And that's six and a half hours we have to loot as much s- _blarp_ -t as we can get our hands on," Hamilton says, grinning as he slaps my shoulder. He takes up his assault rifle in a grip learned from hours of airsofting. "Come on, let's go!"

"Fine, but we are not PK-ing randomers," I insist. "Unless the b- _blarp-_ ds try it on, in which case, let's brass the f- _blarp -_ kers up."

We make our way towards the edge of the parade ground. Around us, new players drop in constantly, some managing to meet up with their mates, some milling around, and others immediately heading out. Hamilton and I plan our next move as we jog; our next move is to purchase supplies from a vendor in the city, before heading out into the surrounding countryside to see who we can kill. We will need supplies because you can only acquire so much equipment during the character creation screen initially, mainly weapons, standard ammo, and certain other items like lower-tier weapon attachments, compasses and binoculars. In city vendors, you could acquire better and more extensive equipment- though by no means all equipment can be obtained this way. It will eventually be necessary to loot equipment from dead enemies, though this early on we would be better off with the equipment that we initially purchased.

We eventually find ourselves in an indoor market located in a large glass atrium under a white sail with a blue underside, located in the main commercial sector of the city. Numerous players are scattered across the floor, inspecting goods on holographic screens or standing and talking with other players. It is here that I get my first decent look at the other players. As Hamilton ogles a display of a heavily-modified FAL battle rifle, I observe our fellow aspiring soldiers, noting that the most common avatar appearance is that of big, muscled soldiers with serious faces, often with impressive facial hair. Some emulate the appearances of famous actors and occasionally actresses, some go to the other extreme and look absurdly pretty. There aren't as many female players- at least, I assume there aren't because there's no way that this many females would play a military simulator. A lot of the apparently female players here may well be guys; it's not unheard of. As for equipment and load outs, a lot is on display: there is early 21st century equipment from a multitude of nations, and some that couldn't possibly be practical- like at least one stupid cat suit, tank tops and machine-gun belts, and other flashy outfits. Those guys are probably going to get rinsed.

We obtain various items of equipment on the recommended purchase list, such as ration packs, medical equipment and maintenance kits, before heading out onto the city streets to make our way towards the nearest gate out into the meadows beyond. The city does not exactly bustle with life, but there are enough NPCs doing their business and human players doing their thing to make it seem like more than an empty husk imitating life. One thing stands out to me, though: there is a distinct lack of vehicle traffic. To be fair, it is still early in the game; at first, we'll have to scavenge vehicles from the enemy. Later on, when we take territory and obtain funds and resources, we'll be able to obtain our own. As with weapons and equipment, the first vehicles available to us will be older models; according to the beta testers, early enemy vehicles include various old Russian vehicles with a few from other countries. Sooner or later, we'll be using modern vehicles, including modern armoured vehicles, light armoured attack vehicles and VTOLs, and even current generation stealth fighters.

We reach the nearest gate, where a number of players are milling about, preparing to sortie into the no-man's land between the Starting City and the territory of the enemy faction. There will be low-level enemy patrols in the meadows, and in the wooded hills a few kilometres away. Time to get to work. As we pass under the gate, another player- gamer tag "HaruYen"- calls out to us from where he stands with five other players.

"Hey, you guys," he says. He is wearing US Army ACU fatigues in the inaccurately named Universal Camouflage Pattern (in actuality, the pattern is comprised of light grey pixels and was useless outside of a city, a desert, or a city in the desert, whch is why the U.S Army phased it out). His appearance is of a muscled, tall Japanese man with a well-trimmed goatee, and he holds an M4A1 across his chest. "Where're you headed?"

"Out there," Hamilton says, pointing out towards the plains. "Going to get started on killing these guys. Maybe loot their gear. What about you?"

"Same," HaruYen says as he approaches. "We thought about hunting the local wildlife, but apparently, that's something of a pointless exercise since it doesn't net you XP and they don't drop items."

"Makes sense," I say. "This _is_ a military simulator. It would be a bit weird if a bear dropped an AK."

"That's a terrifying thought," HaruYen agrees.

"What if they're Russian bears?" one of his friends says. I chuckle quietly.

"Jesus Christ," Hamilton mutters. "Bears with AKs. We'd be f- _blarp-_ d."

"How about Russian Spetsnatz riding giant bears dual wielding AKs?" I suggest, managing to keep my chuckling under control. Everyone shudders.

"Getting back on track," HaruYen says, dismissing the thought of heavily armed bears and motioning to another player, who takes a small UAV out of his pack. "We pitched in for an aerial drone- nothing major, just one of those civilian remote control things that were all the rage a while back. We tested it out and found an enemy patrol about half a kilometre away in the meadows, but we didn't have the ammo to take them on, so we headed back for that. We're about to head back out, but it would be easier if we had a few more people. What do you say? Want to kill some guys?"

Hamilton and I look at each other. He makes a face indicating agreement, nodding. I shrug. It's possible that these guys might try and kill us at some point, but there are measures in place to prevent PKing- namely, monetary deductions from player funds and HUD icons marking them as PK-ers. These become even more severe if the players are in the same Company.

"Sure," I say. "But how do we know you won't just kill us and take our stuff?"

"If we did, we'd be in the red," one of the other players - gamer tag Akurn- says. "We used most of our funds for the drone." Hamilton and I turn away to deliberate for a few seconds.

"They could be trolls," he says.

"Drones are expensive at this stage. They probably had to pool their remaining funds. You notice how most of them don't have any weapon attachments and basic kit? They probably planned to buy the drone beforehand."

"It's not as if we have any other plans."

"And if they try anything, we can probably take out one or two."

"Then our funds would drop."

"Not if it's self defence. Besides, this is a co-op game. The reward system rewards teamwork, Hamilton."

"This game doesn't have an XP system, remember?"

"It does, it's just not like an RPG. It's for system assist, skills and money."

"Okay," Hamilton says, wringing his hands. "Let's go for it." We turn back to HaruYen and his mates. "Okay, we're game. Let's go kill some folk."

We follow the other six players out into the meadows. The fronds of grass are rendered spectacularly, each individual blade and seed glinting in the sunlight. Copses of woodland are scattered around, and occasionally low stonewalls, modelled to appear aged and slightly crumbling, divide up grassland into fields grazed over by creatures that look like fusions of real-world mammalian herbivores. The entire area is eerily reminiscent of an impressionist painting. The roads are concrete and occasionally asphalt, lined with thick grass, cobblestone walls and trees, with the main highways having ranks of poplars at their rims. In short, large open spaces of waist high grass that can be used for concealment in a pinch and isolated pockets of cover. A fight here will be interesting indeed. As it is, we stick to cover, following the walls to the copses and constantly scanning for hostile contacts.

We come to a halt in the shade of a copse of trees, and HaruYen motions us to halt. The player with the UAV- gamer tag Manato- takes it out of his back pack, and begins setting it up.

"The enemy patrol was about 80 metres that way," HaruYen says, motioning out across the meadows. "They were emplaced in a static fighting position near a road, when we found them. We counted ten, with one armoured car and two machine gun emplacements, not counting the gun attached to the car. They all have light armaments otherwise, mostly older kit. We'll scout them out with the UAV, and then we'll decide our plan of attack. Sound good to you two?"

"Better than just bum-rushing them," Hamilton says.

"Sounds good to me," I say.

Manato gets the UAV set up and sets it to hovering, slowly sliding it out from underneath the trees into the air above the meadow. We watch its progress on the control unit's screen as it rises into the air, before Manato guides it into place over the enemy unit's position. The armoured car- an old Russian model called a Tigr- sits on a lay-by just off the road, a gunner in its open cupola manning the Pecheneg. Two more manned Pechenegs cover the road, and the remaining seven men are spread out behind sandbags and in the ditch at the side of the road. The leader of the patrol, identified by his blue beret, is leaning casually against the side of the Tigr, his G3 slung casually across his stomach with the barrel pointing down at the ground. I look closer, and realise that the man is having a smoke.

"They aren't ready for an ambush," I say. "Their sergeant's just casually smoking. If we sneak up on them we could take them out with a few grenades and a crossfire."

"Priority targets are the gunners and the sergeant," says HaruYen. "We need to hit them before they get the chance to react."

"Prep grenades," says Hamilton. "And you, with the grenade launcher, get ready to hit the machine gun nests." The guy he points to- Akurn, who has an M16A4 with an under-slung M203- looks annoyed at being ordered around by Hamilton, and looks to HaruYen for confirmation. HaruYen nods, and Akurn looks satisfied.

"Anything else?" Manato asks.

"Stick to cover and don't act like a r _-blarp-_ d," Hamilton says. "Common sense, people. It's underrated."

Manato continues to man the UAV from the copse while the rest of us crawl through the long grass at the edge of the field. We have already formed our own temporary tactical net, the stage before forming an actual Company, so we can keep in constant radio contact. The tac-net is only short range in neutral areas- covering about 100 metres- but can be used to form a relay between players. It's range increases when in areas with communications towers controlled by player factions or AI-controlled allied states, and decreases to 50 metres in areas with comms towers controlled by the enemy faction. In that situation, dedicated portable comms terminals are needed to maintain the tac-net. As it is, Manato will be able to notify us of enemy positions, but at this early stage will not be able to share the drone feed with us.

"Keep going until you reach the copse. They're all focused on watching the road at the moment, they shouldn't see you coming," Manato says. He occasionally calls out course corrections, until we are almost on top of them.

"Prep grenades," Hamilton says; most of HaruYen's mates and Hamilton take out frags, with the exception of Akurn, who prepares his M16/grenade launcher combo, aiming at where Manato informs him the closest MG position is. I ready my HK416D, ready to open fire.

"On my count, people… three. Two. One. Frag out!" says HaruYen. They all pull the pins of their grenades and throw, before ducking down into the undergrowth. Several seconds pass; there is some panicked shouting, before numerous muffled _whumpfs_. Shrapnel shreds flesh and vegetation and dust and clods of dirt are thrown through the air. Akurn fires a grenade at where he had seen the nearest machine gun nest. I fire at where the Tigr's Pecheneg gunner should be, and duck back down as a stream of high-calibre rounds cut through the vegetation above my head. Everyone else starts firing, and HaruYen's team starts to move forwards. One of them- gamer tag "AMO"- stands up, blasting away with his FNC assault rifle, but presents an easy target, and is cut down- rather messily, it seems. There are some very realistic blood effects, and I turn away as soon as I catch a glimpse of his terrifyingly rendered rib cage and the organs contained within.

"S- _blarp-_ t, AMO's down," shouts HaruYen as I take cover behind a reasonably sturdy tree. It doesn't matter; he'll respawn at the parade ground again soon enough. I aim through the ELCAN sight at an indistinct shape moving through the dust and fire another burst. The shape immediately drops as Akurn fires another grenade, adding more dust to the airborne melange of particle effects.

"He always had a habit of inappropriate timing," Akurn chuckles.

"That's too bad. Forget him and move up," Hamilton says, firing off a burst from his SIG assault rifle. I crawl forwards through the undergrowth, bullets snapping through the air above my head. My only awareness of the others comes from the occasional comment over the tactical net and my comrades' vector icons in my HUD. I reach the edge of the undergrowth, and get a glimpse of the patrols' fighting position. A number of bodies litter the ground and the multiple detonations have wrecked the sandbags and torn through the verge. Akurn's last 40mm grenade has torn through the Tigr, which now burns softly, the Pecheneg gunner slumped in his seat. I see the sergeant stumble around the side of the Tigr, protected from the grenade blasts by the Tigr's bodywork. He lifts up the G3- which I see now is a G3A4, the variant with a sliding stock- and blindly fires off a burst, followed by several single shots that take chunks out of the trees behind us. I line him up in the reticule of the ELCAN and fire off several rounds that rupture his head, spraying blood and the remains of his beret into the air. I duck back behind the nearest boulder as the last Pecheneg gunner fires of a burst.

The others push up, firing as they come. The remaining militia troops have retreated to the ditch on the opposite side of the road; four remain, including the last Pecheneg gunner. Bullets thud into our verge, striking another of our team- gamer tag "Rory"- in the torso, above the rim of his body armour as he runs for a sandbag position. He collapses in the middle of the road, leaking blood onto the ground. I shudder; it's too realistic, even more than I bargained for.

"Rory!" shouts the last of HaruYen's team, a player with the gamer tag "24". According to Rory's status bar, he's still alive but bleeding out, and we can't get to him. Akurn tries to reach him, but is forced back into cover behind the Tigr by the Pecheneg gunner.

"Haru, we can't get to Rory," Akurn says. "He'll bleed out by the time we get to him."

"F- _blarp-_ k!" shouts HaruYen. "He's going to be pissed when he respawns!"

"Sucks to be him. We'll just have to meet up with them back at the Starting City," 24 says. "Lawman, Collins, how are you two doing?"

"Surviving," I say.

"F- _blarp-_ king terrified, but I'm okay," Hamilton says, laughing shakily. I know how he feels; this is intense, more real than I thought it would be.

"Only four more, all in the ditch across from you, mainly to your 12 through two o'clock," Manato says from his spot safe in the last copse of trees. I can just barely hear the buzz of the drone above the gunfire; if this were real life, I'd be practically deaf by now, and be unable to hear much of anything. Apparently, the developers decided to tone down the gunshots so as not to aggravate potential customers during the alpha stage. Good call.

Another burst of gunfire from HaruYen's M4 and the Pecheneg ceases firing. Akurn fires another grenade, prompting a scream from one of the enemy troopers. Bursts from 24's MP5 force the last two troopers to keep their heads down.

"Only two more. One is attempting to crawl further down the ditch and flank you," says Manato.

"Got him," says Hamilton as a burst of fire from his SIG assault rifle sprays blood across the ground. "Wait, he's still moving. S- _blarp_ -t."

"24, with me," HaruYen says. "Akurn, Lawman, Collins, cover us. We'll flank them. Manato, give us some heads-up."

"You're clear. The uninjured one is trying to move towards his pal, who is trying to treat himself. Flank left."

"Got it. On my mark, the rest of you give us covering fire."

"Akurn," I say, "Hold off on your grenade launcher. You risk hitting HaruYen and 24. Ronan, just spray them with short bursts. Manato, correct our aim."

"It's Lawman. Come on, mate."

"Sorry."

We start firing, and Manato guides us so that our bullets are striking around the two remaining militia, pinning them down as HaruYen and 24 flank them. Several long bursts of 5.56x45mm and 9x19mm rounds later, and it's all over.

"Clear!" calls HaruYen.

"Clear," Hamilton repeats. I stand, emerging from the foliage as Akurn comes to stand over Rory's body, bending down to swipe a hand over him, opening up a menu that only he can see to appraise his vital signs.

"He's dead," Akurn says. "Mind if I retrieve his gear?"

"Take it," HaruYen says. "We can give it back to him when we get back to the parade ground. Hamilton, Collins, take what you want from these pricks, but kindly leave AMO and Rory. It's their gear, we need to get it back to them."

"Won't they spawn again with it anyway?" Hamilton says.

"Yeah, but they'll spawn with less ammo and supplies so we'll give them their stuff back, and whatever we don't need we can sell to a vendor."

"Fair enough," Hamilton concedes as the five of us congregate in the road, reloading our weapons. "Pretty good job though, all things considered. Only two casualties, and what? Ten enemy troops dead, plus one Humvee?"

"That's a Tigr, Hamilton," I say.

"Yeah, no one cares, Reid," Hamilton says. "I say we divide up the loot, maybe keep each other on our friend lists? I quite enjoyed this."

"Sounds good," 24 says. "Guys?"

"Sure," HaruYen agrees. We swap contact info and loot the corpses, before we meet back together along with Manato.

"Well, it was good meeting you guys," says Hamilton. "Tell Rory and AMO we say hi. So, after you guys get your boys back, what next?"

"More of the same, I guess," says HaruYen. "There's 2000 klicks of hostile territory to take. Might as well get started, eh?"

"Of course," Hamilton says. "Drop us a line next time you need some back up. You guys are alright."

"Thanks, man. See you around." They turn around and start heading back down the road, back to the city. HaruYen turns round. "Good luck, you guys. You're a badass, Lawman! You too, Quiet Guy!"

"You too," Hamilton says. As the others retreat into the meadows, we start walking in the opposite direction.

Over the next three hours, we encounter two four-man patrols and one enemy strongpoint next to a main road containing a further eight men (the latter required grenades again). Hamilton takes a glancing hit to his leg, but otherwise we are unharmed, though running low on ammunition. After the last attack the sun is low in the sky, the sky itself beginning to shift from blue to subtle and amazingly rendered shades of orange and pink, Hamilton and I gather together relevant ammunition from the corpses and the Tigr- this one unarmed- and sit together on a grass-covered berm, which gives us an almost uninterrupted view back to the Starting City, the white sails visible above the tree tops as they gleam in the late afternoon sun. I feel the fronds of grass underneath me, each impeccably rendered, and wonder just how massive the servers and CPUs are that Argus is using to render all of this. Even ten years ago such a level of detail would be unheard of, but for the last 50 years computing power has been increasing exponentially. Only in the past decade has the technology and programming expertise begun to catch up. Now, we're on the verge of a technological revolution and all that that entails, but it will probably be another decade or so before the public sees it. That is the way it has always been. That is how it is with the Nerve Gear and ACAO.

"Damn," Hamilton says, dropping onto the top of the berm and motioning towards the bodies and small, smouldering fires in the strongpoint below us. "Hard work, this."

"It's a military simulator, not Call of Duty. It was never going to be easy," I say. "Still, it could have gone worse. We haven't even died yet, though we'll probably need to acquire some more ammo after this."

"What amazes me is that people still play Call of Duty."

"Quite. But my point about ammo still stands. Your SIG and my HK both use NATO 5.56x45mm ammo, but your SIG uses different magazines to most other guns, whilst the 416 uses STANAG magazines, which are more common." I indicate the ruins of the strongpoint below. "These guys are mainly using AKs at the moment, but some use other platforms. A couple of these guys have been using AR15-type weapons, and the sergeant at the checkpoint we attacked with HaruYen's team was carrying a HK G3 variant, so it won't be impossible to gather the relevant ammo, but I hope you kept your empty magazines."

"Shit, I thought they automatically went back into inventory space once spent…" Hamilton mumbles as he activates his menu, no doubt searching in vain for empty magazines he abandoned in the heat of combat. I leave him to it as I admire the view, until he speaks again. "Uh, Reid?"

"Yes mate."

"You wouldn't happen to know where the logout button is, would you?"

"Come again?" I say, frowning as I turn towards him, before that same sense of displacement experienced during login occurs again and I am yanked into the air, to speed through a whirlwind of colour to come to a halt without inertia in the middle of the parade ground, confusingly enough. More players appear around me in momentary bursts of light, and within moments the vast space of the parade ground is filled with players. Hamilton is nowhere to be seen. There are shouts of confusion, stunned murmurings, and angry exclamations from the people around me.

"What the f- _blarp-_ k?"

"What the hell just happened?"

"Waaagh!"

"Hmm."

"God damn it, I was on a killstreak!"

"Yeah, modern British foreign policy is bullsh- huh?"

The turmoil continues for another minute, before a metaphorical blanket of silence seems to fall over the vast open space. This shuts everyone up rather effectively, due to both the volume control and the impact on the players making them cease to talk in confusion. They all stop and start looking around the parade ground in anticipation. They stop waiting when large holographic screens at the head of the parade ground activate, displaying the head and shoulders of a man wearing an archaic red hooded robe with gold trim, his face hidden in shadow. I get the sudden and disconcerting feeling that everything is about to go to hell.

"Welcome, players, to the world of Aincrad Combined Arms Online," the hooded figure says in a voice that cuts through the sound blanket and reverberates across the parade ground to every player in the game. "My name is Kayaba Akihiko, and you are now inhabitants of my domain. Listen closely: what I am about to tell will greatly affect your chances of survival in this virtual domain."

Oh shit.

"You may have noticed that the logout icon has been removed from your menus. This is not a mistake; it is not a glitch; it is not a prank. You are now trapped within this virtual world."

What are you doing.

"The purpose of this alteration to the in-game user interface is to prevent you from leaving this world before the necessary requirements have been met."

No, seriously, _what are you doing_.

"Any attempt by others to remove your Nerve Gear will result in a burst of high-intensity microwaves being transmitted through your brain, damaging the cells of your brain irreparably and killing you instantly. A number of you have already died due to such actions by overzealous people in real life, despite the warning contained in my last press release." He conjures up screens from news shows around the world, reinforcing what he has just said, before the screens fade into the air and he resumes speaking. "The authorities are no longer attempting to rescue you. You are now prisoners in my domain, and the only escape available to you is to clear the game."

Why? What does he gain from this?

"Your task is simple: band together and conquer the world of Aincrad, or die trying. If your health is depleted, the Nerve Gear will emit a microwave pulse as I previously detailed, killing you IRL."

I want to see my family again. I want to get out of here.

"Rest assured, I am not without my reasons. You see, I once had a dream, a dream of a world where one could live by the sword and forge their own destiny. My time working with the militaries of Japan and the USA, and later others, changed this dream, but the essence remains the same. You will all become… _legendary_."

Well, that settles it. We're all fucked. There is no escape. There is no reprieve. There is no alternative. I will have to fight and help us all escape this death game. I may not be the same person I was by the end.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't own shit except the OCs. Feedback is always valued. Please, enjoy and have a good day._

Chapter 2

Reid

Uh.

A lot of internally processed biological waste product has just hit the bladed ventilation device in the past five minutes. And now that 100% natural fertilizer has just been spread in a lateral pattern that only organic farmers or professional trolls might be happy with. This is because I, and everyone else in the parade ground in the centre of the Starting City, am now stuck in a virtual reality computer game. And, if Kayaba Akihiko, the wanker who just delivered the monologue from the giant screens at the head of the surrounding the parade ground, is to be believed, the only ways out are completing the game (an MMO, which is not something one normally associates with completion) or death via weaponised microwaves. And the rest of the new population of this game haven't even begun panicking yet.

My best friend is nowhere to be seen, I'm surrounded by foreign players from North America, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Japan and South Korea who have just been revealed for the awkward 20-somethings they are by the Mirror of Truth Items that Kayaba had us use, and I'm pretty sure that there's about to be a stampede, which will probably spread the shit across a large geographical area. I notice a young-looking Japanese kid pulling a slightly older scraggly-looking Japanese guy behind him (whose gamer tag identifies him as _Klein_ , oddly enough) and decide two things: that Hamilton can wait until we're out of this parade ground, and that it's time to leave. I resist the urge to pull my gun, because in a safe zone such an action would be a waste of time, and start calmly heading towards the exit as the stunned-looking foreign players (and a few people who are probably from the British Isles too) gaze stupidly at the point in the sky were Kayaba Akihiko just finished delivering his speech and disappeared into thin air. Probably to continue trolling us from behind the scenes like the prize arsehole he almost certainly is. My instinct is to run, but there's no sense in creating a panic.

It's so silent you could hear a pin drop, despite the fact that the sound blanket Kayaba used to keep us quiet during his speech has now lifted. It won't last.

I am only 100 metres from the nearest exit, and cross ten of these before someone screams. Their voice is high-pitched, and probably belongs to a young girl, or a guy with a laughably high-pitched voice. This thought threatens to make me giggle as I remember an old video of a Dutch talk show host interviewing a guy with a comically squeaky voice. As it is, I don't quite manage to supress a smirk, prompting a couple of people nearby who are paying attention to me to look at me like I'm a psychopath. It occurs to me that cracking a smile during a situation like this one is not something I would have done ten minutes ago. I keep on moving, crossing another ten metres before everyone finally looses their shit.

There is pandemonium. Some of it, admittedly, is funny- like the fat guy running around in a skirt (from when his avatar was female a few minutes before) like a mad cow screaming, "It's the end of the world!" Other happenings are decidedly less so, like the fact that there is a very real risk of trampling. I don't know if you can be trampled in a safe zone, but I don't want to find out. There is a young girl ahead of me who is on her knees, pushed to the ground as the stampede ensued; I grab her arm and pull her along behind me, barely hearing her frantic babbling- in Afrikaans, apparently, as the translation software helpfully informs me in the corner of my vision. I'm almost at the exit, the two Japanese guys visible ahead. The young one with the black hair is moving with decisiveness, so he probably knows what he's doing and is definitely not an inexperienced player. I follow them.

The girl and I break out of the crowd, managing to keep ahead of the scrum as we rush through the streets of the Starting City. The buildings are smooth and futuristic, with roofs like that of the Sydney Opera house- sails reaching for the sky. The streets are clean, with wide pedestrian roads and glass frontages whilst still retaining some discreet Mediterranean influences- white stone, warm colours and airy courtyards. Trees line the boulevards, and there are public and private gardens aplenty, some arranged in tiers and resembling overgrown ziggurats.

I manage to reach a small side alley that was probably abandoned by the designers halfway through, because it's weirdly clean here- cleaner than the rest of the city, that is. I stop, panting for about two seconds before I realise that I'm not out of breath due to being in a computer game. The girl has stopped panting too and is pointing her rifle at me. It looks comically oversized on her, and I realise that her previous avatar- before Kayaba's party trick reverted us to our IRL appearances- probably had the physique to handle a battle rifle. Now, she's a scrawny mixed-race teenager- probably 14 or 15- with dreadlocks that go down to her collarbone, caramel-coloured skin, and wide, angry brown eyes. She is trying to look pissed off, but is obviously as scared as me, just not as good at hiding it.

"That won't work here," I say, straightening up and indicating her rifle. "Safe Zone. Are you okay?"

"Keep away from me, you fucking creep," she says in a South African accent, her profanity unaltered- Kayaba's parting gift was to disable all profanity and adult content filters for all players, for the purpose of "maximum immersion". Fucking prick. I then realise that me- an 18-year-old guy- pulling along this early-teens girl probably looked pretty bad, and that the girl's reaction is not entirely unjustified. I raise my hand and walk away, summoning up my in-game menu with the other to compose a message.

"My apologies," I say as I begin typing, in a calm tone that does not reflect the panic brewing inside me. "You should leave the city, head for the nearest settlement. Things in this region are about to get pretty crowded, and we have a war to win." I look back at her. "And don't bite off more than you can chew. It's too easy to die; find someone you can trust and stick with them, you'll be safer in a group. Stay safe." Then I walk away.

"Thank you."

I stop and turn back. The girl still looks angry, but she's no longer pointing her battle rifle at me; instead, it is slung across her slightly armoured chest, above her ammo pouches. I nod awkwardly.

"It's okay."

"My name's Fran," she says. "If we survive the next few days… look me up, okay? Just don't try anything on, or I'll kill you." I nod. That is acceptable; I may just decide to fight with her in the future, but for now I need to get away. There are too many loud, panicking people in this city.

"Sure. Good luck," I say, but she's already walking quickly away.

I finish typing and look over the message, and send it to Hamilton. That should make things clear enough. The next town out from the Starting City is Orinora, a few hours' walk away. I head for the nearest city exit, and start running, reviewing the situation in my head as I do so. The situation is now more serious than it was ten minutes ago, and I will need as much information about the world and our place in it, no matter how trivial, as it is possible to get. It could be the difference between living to breath real air, holding my family, and living a full life, and dying an untimely death.

There are 100,000 players from 8 different countries. We are trapped in a virtual world named Aincrad consisting of a continent 2000km across and hundreds of individual islands and sub-continents contributing to another 3000km, a simulated area larger than the area of the USA. At one end of the Western archipelago there is us- the players, now all located in the Starting City. At the opposite end of the continent, 5000km away, is our objective: the city named The Terminus, a metropolis of black obsidian corporate towers and brutal architecture reminiscent of the love child of modernist and Soviet-era architecture, looking like something out of fucking Blade Runner. I wholly expect to find urban segregation, slums and Draconian law when we finally get there, in the tradition of dystopian science fiction codified in Orwell's 1984. What we find along the way will vary: there will be cities and countryside, wild lands and agricultural areas, and biomes of all kinds, all requiring different tactics and equipment to fight in.

Our goal: fight our way through legions of generically bloodthirsty soldiers coordinated by some pretty neat AI that is probably quite capable of killing us all and slay the monster at the end of the book. In this case, the monster is personified by a vicious bitch queen named Alexa Copellius, and her personal bodyguard, both of who reside in the Ruby Palace, a shard of red glass overlooking the entire city of Terminus. The backstory describes her as the ruthless daughter of the head of a financial dynasty, using any and all methods to rise through the ranks before organising a hostile takeover of the former elected Prime Minister's government. She then established her monarchy and annexed the rest of Aincrad, holding it under the flag of the Copellian Federation. There are other AI-controlled states that can be co-opted by the players to help fight the Federation, and independent bandit factions scattered through the islands that we must contend with. We will also have to raise our own armies, outnumbered by the enemy faction's military as we are.

I pass through the gates heading into the meadowlands outside the city. In a few hours, players will be swarming this area, shooting everything that moves in an effort to gain XP. Unlike other games, this XP doesn't allow you to alter your stats; instead, it ties into the System Assist, making your every move smoother and more effective- like repeating an action in the real world and reinforcing muscle memory and reflex arcs. Each kill makes the actions of aiming through sights, of pulling the trigger, of reacting to recoil more deeply ingrained in your muscle memory. It also gives you access to more gear and, to a lesser extent, skills and professions, such as engineering, medical and vehicle operation.

Now I'm in the no-man's land around the starting city, rushing through the meadows and copses of trees, eyes peeled for any more patrols that will be challenging to eliminate now that I am alone. Undoubtedly there will be more enemies to slay; in this game, they will be the vicious native fauna of this alien alternate Earth- like something out of The Long Earth series, give it a read, it's great- and the soldiers of the antagonist faction. There is no way that our earlier sorties cleared them out of the area. In the fluff they are described as vicious soldiers with varying degrees of proficiency, willing to do anything to serve their queen. The militia present in this region are the lowest tier- the worst-equipped and trained and the easiest to kill, though 'easy' as used here is relative; if we aren't careful, these fifth-rate Militia will easily be able to stomp us into the ground. The standard grunts are meant to be fairly decently equipped, on par with an Eastern European military force. As the game progresses, this will undoubtedly change, as will the weapons available to players. Each side will gain access to more advanced equipment, progressing through the decades into the realm of near-future speculative fiction. At the moment we are equipped with early 21st century tech, mainly that which was introduced or already in general use in the naughties. Hamilton is using a SIG 552 until he finds something heavier. The South African girl, Fran, was using a modernised variant of the FAL. I will continue to use the HK416, but will probably switch it out at some point in the near future, depending on what I find. We'll get access to more modern weaponry- and vehicles, equipment etc.- as we progress, eventually moving on to snazzy futuristic gear, though I doubt they will go as far as to introduce energy weapons.

I disengage the safety of my rifle, happy that the weapon handling is closely modelled on real-life. The designers could have easily implemented a simplified system that would leave little room for interpretation, but as it is the System Assist provides the nudge players unfamiliar with firearms might need until they become familiar with their weapons. If we ever manage to complete the game, everyone who survives the war to come will be an expert in weapon handling.

I stand on the eastbound road, looking to the horizon. Ahead of me are fields of waist-high grass and wildflowers, with great forests in the distance. Pillars of smoke drift across the sky from patrols and checkpoints attacked earlier in the day. The terrain of the starting island progresses from flat plains at the west coast, where the starting city is located, to low-lying hills, then a small mountain range. By the time one reaches the east coast it will be back to low hills again. I can already hear gunshots in the meadows, and distant cries of men and occasionally women. It's time to leave.

As I run, I think back to the sortie Hamilton and I engaged in with HaruYen and his boys. Specifically, to how those two friends of theirs- AMO and Rory- were killed in the assault. I do not doubt that they died back then, and that HaruYen, Akurn, Manato and 24 did not find them back at the parade ground. AMO and Rory were dead in their beds IRL by the time that we had finished looting the militia corpses. They died, and we cracked _jokes_ about it.

I should feel nauseous that two Japanese gamers that I was playing with a few hours ago are dead, but I force it to the back of my mind with little trouble.

I, Reid Collins, am trapped in the Virtual Reality Mil-Sim MMO of Aincrad Combined Arms Online. My best friend Ronan Hamilton is currently somewhere behind me, probably trying to be a good person and organise a Company. That's okay with me; he's a good leader, and I can't face him just yet- after all, I was the one to persuade him to by ACAO and the Nerve Gear. I and 99,999 other people- less by now, actually- have only one viable option: work together and escape this death game. There are currently 2000 kilometres between us, and our salvation.

Unfortunately, instead of 100,000 soldiers who might have a shot at doing this, there are 100,000 gamers, most of whom probably haven't even left home (I include myself in that category) and many of whom were previously playing the latest iteration of the long-running franchise Call of Duty, quickscoping new players and calling people fags and other immature names (not me, honest) instead of focusing on their studies or lives. And we're supposed to play liberators to the AI- controlled people of Aincrad by organising guerrilla campaigns, counterattacks and liberations.

As I run through the grass, HK scanning from side to side before I scope and drop a wild hunting cat that takes offense to my presence, one thought asserts its dominance in my head and tears its way past my lips, something that would not have happened before Kayaba's address:

"We're all fucking doomed!"

Ronan

 _Get to Orinora._

 _Have gone ahead to recce. Need to be alone and get head straight._

 _Help people. Build Company. Do your thing._

 _Head out quickly, not much time._

 _Will stay there for three days._

 _Be careful._

That bastard.

I'm sitting in a pub, whilst around me upwards of twenty rowdy young people argue about what to do next, as the impact of my best friend's words sink in.

Reid Collins, closest friend to me since I was 3 years old, has left me in the Starting City whilst he gallivants towards the nearest town shooting everything in his way. He didn't even bother trying to find me during the riot in the parade ground, instead running off before the screaming kid set everyone off. I found myself with a bunch of Japanese and American guys, and a couple of Koreans. Now the awkward borderline autistic social reject who somehow manages to interact with other people is outside the city and probably waving his gun around and shooting anything that looks at him funny. Luckily for him- and probably me too, come to think of it- when he isn't decrying the evils of America's liberal gun laws he's an unashamed gun nut, ironically. I don't doubt that he'll make it to the town of Orinora, and quickly too.

Unfortunately, Kayaba's speech appears to have done something to him, hence his need to 'get his head straight'. I have long suspected that he has only managed to interact with others because his parents organised therapy for him when he was 12. Before that, he was hopeless. In a situation so far from the norm like this one, I have no idea what he'll do, or how he'll react.

Against all odds, I managed to get the disparate group of foreigners organised. Then they insisted on calling some of their friends, and now there are 23 scared, angry people hotly debating what we should do next. If it weren't for the fact that we are in a safe zone, where harming other players is impossible, I'm pretty sure that the Korean players and a bunch of the Japanese would already be dead. I and some of the Americans have already had to tell them to get their shit together once.

Now the Americans are flipping out, and I have a maximum of ten seconds before someone starts a full-on brawl. The disturbingly life-like NPC that is acting as the waitress sets a pint of ale down in front of me, looking at me imploringly- more imploringly than any AI has any right to. She turns away, and I shudder. Kayaba's really dropped us down the rabbit hole; what was he doing, besides making a death game? AI is meant to have limits- I should know. And I'm sure that the NPCs weren't as emotive as they are now when Reid and I explored the city earlier.

Putting the matter of the hyper-realistic NPCs to the back of my mind, I take a swig of the admittedly authentic beverage, and slam my hand into the table.

"That's fucking enough!"

Everyone stops and turns to stare at me. I'm not that imposing, really. I'm reasonably tall- 5 feet and 10 inches- but my build isn't that impressive, more cuddly than muscly, though it's still evident that I used to play rugby in secondary school. Even so, it's enough to make everyone shut up, at any rate.

"We're in a shit situation," I begin. Damn, this is hard. "You heard that prick back there. There are only two ways out of this place. That's two options. And I want you all," I make eye contact with as many of them as I can, "to decide now which you will take. You can die, or you can fight. Fight hard, and fight to win. If you want to die, then get out of this city and put a bullet through your brain. Your Nerve Gear will send a microwave pulse through your brain, fry your neurons, and you will die. We will wash our hands of you. No one here will mourn your loss, unless you do the decent and considerate thing and take as many of those Copellian fuckers with you as you can. That would be lovely." I pause for effect. I have their attention. "Or, you can live on, and fight. You may yet die, but you will take matters into your own hands. You will win the respect of your mates, and you will finish this bloody game. Notice how I'm not giving you the option of sitting it out. Do that, and that's one less soldier, and winning this will take that much longer. If this takes too long, we may well be dead anyway. We'll waste away in our beds, and we'll never win this fucking game." I leave out that our bodies will probably be in hospital soon, and that medical technology will probably keep us alive indefinitely. "Your choice. If you want to live, then I suggest we stick together. Safety in numbers. We'll launch attacks on Copellian Army patrols, scout out their territory, hit their supply chains. We'll be a Company. And we'll kill them all. If that doesn't appeal to you," I point at the exit, "There's the door."

There's silence for about ten seconds, then one of the Koreans stands up, identified by his gamer tag as "Supreme Leader Kim :)".

"We're in," he says, in a surprisingly feminine voice, the software translating his words perfectly. "We're probably dead either way. Might as well make something of it."

"Good man," I say. The spokesperson for the Americans goes next, a Latino guy with the handle "HotChipotle018".

"I can't speak for all of us," he says, "But I can't sit around. I got family, in the real world, you know? I need to get back to them. Me and a few of the others, we were with the Marines. Enlisted, but hey. We can't lead, but we can help you guys out, with weapons and tactics. You know?"

"Good. That's great, pal," I say. "Any other military types?" A few of the other Yanks raise their hands, and one of the Japanese. "You," I say, pointing at the Japanese guy- "MasaKuro". "What about you, duck?" The guy frowns, the translation software not being so hot with English regional slang.

"Ground SDF," he says. "Sergeant Masaru Kurona. I was a trooper. Saw action in Osaka back in '44. I'd like to help."

"Good man. And the rest of you?" I say, looking at the rest of the Japs.

"We're in," one of them says. "No point sitting around, like you say."

"And the way I figure it," another one, a scrawny guy in his late teens says, "We've got, what, 5 soldiers in this little group? I don't know about you lot, but I think our chances have automatically shot up."

I'm nodding my head as I say, "Okay, so we're in business. My mate- Reid Collins, nice guy, good at fighting- has already gone on ahead to the next town, Orinora, to clear the way for us. Our first step is to prepare for tomorrow. We'll sleep in this hostel tonight, and head out tomorrow at 6 in the morning. Military guys, it's your jobs to make sure people get up. We need to be out of the city and heading east by 7. Is that clear?" There are murmurings of ascent around the tables, though some look depressed at the prospect of such an early morning. "Good. Now go to your rooms and get some sleep. It's an early start tomorrow and we need to be in good form. It's possible that Copellian Army units will hold Orinora, so prepare for combat tomorrow. At the very least we'll be up against Militia troops. If you have any matters to take care of, then I suggest you do it tonight." Holy shit. I'm effectively telling these guys to write their wills.

A few minutes later, and everyone has retreated to their rooms to prepare for tomorrow's march. I end up bunking with the two Koreans- kind of awkward since they are a couple- and the JSDF sergeant MasaKuro/ Masaru Kurona. Whilst the two Korean teens get changed for bed in the en-suite, I and the sergeant- a man in his early 30s- sit on our beds, checking our weapons and avoiding looking at each other. Anxious whispering carries through from the bathroom- whilst the game's programming prevents sound from carrying between the room and the rest of the building, whispering in the en-suite is still audible. The two young lovers are understandably worried; soft words are exchanged, and the girl begins to mutter soothing reassurances to Supreme Leader Kim :).

I stop myself from thinking about what I left behind in the real world a few hours ago. I wish we didn't part on those terms.

I shut out the Koreans and turn my attention to the SIG 552 rifle in my hands. The magazine is removed and the chamber is empty. A suppressor is mounted on the end, and the fore end is railed. The only accessories beside the suppressor are the factory iron sights and a three-point sling. I was never that into guns as much as Reid was, but I've always had a thing for SIGs, though I'll probably switch out for something else in the future- probably a FAL variant. I insert the magazine, rack back the charging handle and engage the safety before folding the stock and setting it down beside my bed. I take out my side arm- a Taurus 1911 variant- and fiddle around with it. I notice that MasaKuro is watching me.

"You alright, pal?" I ask. The sergeant nods at my gun.

"You're new to this, Lawman," he says, calling me by my gamer tag.

"You got me," I say, raising my hand. "Only ever done this shit in airsoft, you know."

"You've got a gift," the sergeant said. "You know, down in the bar? You kept everyone together. I've met a few officers in my time, but most of them didn't command respect like you did. If your friend is anything like you, then I think you're onto something."

 _Help people. Build Company. Do your thing._

Sure thing, Reid. Like I have a choice now.

"He's nothing like me," I admit. "He's a socially retarded sci-fi nerd and gun nut, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's completely flipped out by now. But he's my mate. And he'll do all right, I think. This is his sort of gig."

"I see," MasaKuro says. "Need any help with your kit?"

"I'm fine, MasaKuro. Between airsoft and the training software, I think I'll be okay for tomorrow. But if we survive Orinora, I wouldn't mind a few pointers."

"Hmm. By the way, it's just Masaru Kurona. Kurona or Sergeant Kurona if you like."

"Thanks." I eye his weapon. "What's that you're using?"

"Ah." He raises the rifle. "An old Type 89. They used to use it in the SDF, still keep them in storage. We were made to train with them in basic."

"Looks nice."

"Yeah," he says, as the Korean lovebirds came back from the bathroom. We pack our guns away and get ready for bed. Before I settle down I type out a message to HaruYen, inviting him to meet up at some point in the near future and to join our group. I also express condolences at the probable deaths of Rory and AMO. Had we known that we were trapped in this death game then we would all have fought harder to at least save Rory. Come to think of it, we could probably have stopped AMO from leaping up during the fire fight. I send the message, and try to forget about it- water under the bridge, smoke in the breeze. We didn't know. There was nothing we could have done. It doesn't really help, though. Those two guys- quite possibly kids younger than me- are dead, and there is nothing I can do.

As I fall asleep I think of Reid. That bastard. He leaves me with a bunch of squabbling foreigners, and expects me to follow him to the front lines. Airsoft is one thing. This is another.

And then my Nerve Gear puts me in a coma, and I dream fitfully until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

_I still don't own any of the original work, but the OCs are still mine. Feedback is valued; please have a good day._

Chapter 3

Reid

It's mid-afternoon- say, 3 o'cock- of Day 3 and Orinora is, predictably enough, under enemy occupation.

Luckily for me and the few other players gathering in the countryside around the town, the occupiers are Copellian Auxiliary Militia, lower-tier enemies more suited to the skill levels and equipment wielded by low-level players. They are using old weapons, like us, or low-grade modern weapons such as current iterations of the Kalashnikov. Their gear is something of a mish-mash; weapons from all over the world, two Russian BMP-2s, Russian ground mobility vehicles and heavy trucks, old German NH90 helicopters and American MH6 Little Birds.

But they still pose a problem. There are about 20 of us here so far, most of which are probably beta testers and who probably have at least some idea of what they are doing. I recognise the short black-haired Japanese kid from the parade ground; his tag labels him as "Kirito", and he wields a P90 PDW, an FN57 hand gun and two machetes on his back. His gear is all black. I have taken to calling him The Black Dude.

I'm currently lying under a bush with Kirito (AKA Black Dude) and a South African player named Koobus wielding a Vektor R5 carbine, with a Benelli combat shotgun in a sheath on his back and an RPG-7 at his side. The town is visible ahead, a loose collection of buildings that could have come from anywhere in the Mediterranean, combined with some high-tech equipment- solar panels, a few windmills, automated farming equipment. The town is nestled in the centre of a small valley in the hilly region, with farmland along the valley floor at either end, and forested sides.

Militiamen patrol the streets and man ad-hoc bunkers set up in cross roads. Several armoured cars identified as GAZ Tigrs patrol the streets, with several more in the town square alongside the two BMPs. Like the one I, Hamilton and the Japanese players encountered on the first day, and the ones in the patrols that I have encountered since, they are armed, mostly with PKP Pecheneg machine guns. There are also two NH90s resting on their landing gear alongside a single MH6, whilst the other MH6 patrols in the sky above, two machine gunners on the benches.

Koobus has just finished marking enemy positions on the tactical network, showing them as vectors in our HUDs. I tap out a quick message to Hamilton, informing him that the town is occupied and that it could be another few days before it might be cleared, silently hoping that he doesn't make it in time. I close the text window and look down into the square, the view afforded by our vantage point giving us a good look at the enemy war machines.

"There's a good fockin' lot of 'em down there," Koobus says. "It'll be a fockin' slog once the assault gets going." Koobus swears a lot, by the way. I can only imagine what he must have sounded like when the profanity filter was active; I do not doubt that he would have been impossible to take seriously.

"Best estimates put numbers at 70 infantry, plus support and their vehicles," Kirito says. His speech is soft, but brisk and to the point. The reconnaissance conducted by the 20 players here has all been added to the tactical net, giving us a comprehensive picture of the disposition of enemy forces in Orinora. We're waiting, though. We'll need more than 20 men to take this settlement. We'll probably resort to subterfuge for this one, if our planners are in any way competent. One group brought along three M224 60mm mortars and 60 rounds for them; one guy brought a Barrett M95; and another team brought an M240 machine gun. We are well equipped, but we're hardly Special Forces. We'll need more manpower to take this place.

I look through my binoculars at a fire team patrolling along the town perimeter. They are wearing basic fatigues, turn-of-the-century stuff with a camo pattern resembling a blend of the old South Korean Marine Corps digital tiger stripe camo and British DPM. No thermal shielding is in evidence. Most wear basic chest rigs and tactical vests, some wear combat harnesses, and none of them have armour. About half wear old-style Kevlar helmets, the rest wear either boonie hats or peaked combat caps. Weapons are mainly AKMs, AK74 variants, and occasionally FALs, G3s, G36s, SIGs and AR15 variants, with a few machine guns, RPGs and LAWs, and SMGs. All turn-of-the-century stuff, and most of it of lower quality than our gear.

"There'll probably be more players arriving," I say. "Once we have enough- say, another 20 at least- do you think that would be enough to mount an assault?"

"If we want to capture their gear, we'll need more than that," says Kirito. He has a point; at the moment, there are only a few basic vehicles available in the garages of Starting City, none of which are armed, and until we start taking territory and making cash that is what we will be stuck with. At the moment, the best way to get vehicles that will be useful in the coming war will be to steal the enemy's shit. And lighting the place up with high explosives and machine guns will be a sure way to deprive us of valuable war assets. I regret that Akurn destroyed that Tigr, back at that first ambush. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

"The mortars will be useful for taking on the infantry," says Koobus. "And maybe the Tigrs. But if we want to take the helicopters and BMPs, we'll have to get in close. It won't be easy to take them fockers, though."

"And if we kill the civilian NPCs in mortar strikes it will be difficult to recruit them later," says Kirito.

I sigh. This soldiering shit is going to be more difficult than I thought. Turns out we have to play guerrillas as well as soldiers.

"Attention, assholes," a brash American voice says over the tactical net. "Everyone except the recon squad return to the staging area, we got another 20 men from the Starting City and we need to alter our game plan. Remember to keep your fat asses behind cover and _don't get seen_."

"I fucking hate that guy," says Kirito. I chuckle in agreement. His name is Kibaou, a dual-citizenship Japanese-American guy with really stupid hair- spiky, like a sea urchin- and a most un-gentlemanly attitude. Thankfully, he isn't one of the organisers of our impromptu Orinora task force- just the lackey of one of the people doing the organising, a Japanese pretty-boy with stupid blue hair named Diabel. I guess I should blame anime for their choices in hair styling.

"That focker needs to get laid," says Koobus.

"I doubt it," I say. "Why would that help?"

"Make him less of a _doos,_ you know?" he says, the translation software providing a helpful equivalent translation for the expletive in the bottom of my vision. Whilst it wouldn't offend a Brit that much, an American would be scandalised.

"I doubt it," says Kirito, wincing as he notices the translation. "Let's go."

Ten minutes later and we have reached what we have taken to calling the Staging Area- actually a field behind the ridgeline with a single Toyota Hilux that the team with the mortars arrived in, three hastily-dug pits containing said mortars and their operators, and a bunch of tents, sleeping bags, and camping miscellanea. There are now almost 40 players assembled here now, with the new 20 having arrived on foot. After talking to some of the newcomers I get a brief version of the state of affairs to the west, back at the Starting City.

Apparently most people aren't rushing ahead, instead moving slowly outwards, killing fauna and tackling the low-level Copellian Militia patrols roaming the meadows and woodland. It takes about ten hours to walk here from Starting City, so most have decided not to rush on ahead, but the general consensus is that once the nearby areas have been cleared of enemy forces they'll march on Orinora. Most of the people here now think that it's best to get started on liberating Aincrad right away, but don't begrudge the people that stayed behind. A few I speak to think that, this only being the beginning of the death game and only 3 days after Kayaba's bombshell of a monologue, most people are too stunned to formulate plans, form Companies, and start the campaign in earnest. After all, it's early days yet. Indeed, the new arrivals talk of botched assaults and poorly thought-out attack plans resulting in a depressing amount of casualties. I hope that Hamilton has had the good sense not to do something stupid.

"Okay, everyone, gather 'round," one of the main organisers, a blonde, attractive American apparently in his early 30s says, standing in the flatbed of the Hilux alongside two others- a perpetually pissed-off-appearing Middle-Eastern guy and the annoyingly good looking blue-haired Japanese guy, Diabel. Kibaou the Hedgehog Lackey is standing on the ground in front of them, along with a few others who look much less ridiculous than him thanks to an absence of retarded hairstyles.

"First of, I'd like to welcome all you newcomers. It's good to have you here, and now we actually have a chance of pulling this off. My name's Harvard, this guy is Diabel, and this other guy's Amir, and we're the ones organising this little pow-wow. Here's the situation: we've been conducting reconnaissance on Orinora. It's just over that ridge, in the middle of the next valley, with farmland at each end. There are 70 Copellian Auxiliary Militia garrisoned in the town, in addition to their support: 6 GAZ Tigrs, which are rotated on patrols, 2 BMP APCs, which are being kept in reserve in the square, ditto for their two NH90 troop helicopters, and two MH6 scout helicopters, which are also kept on rotation. If you check our tactical net, you'll find enemy positions marked on the map. Our aim is to not just eliminate all hostiles in the town, but to capture their equipment, in particular any armed Tigrs, the BMPs, and the helicopters. The utility vehicles are our secondary objective. What you need to understand is that this is the first step: we'll never get out of this death game if we don't take this town first. This is where it all changes, where we take control of our destinies. Understood?" there are ripples of ascent throughout the assembled crowd. "Good. Familiarise yourselves with our battle plans, then get to your positions. We intend to move in tomorrow morning at 5 AM, just before dawn. You may want to get some rest. Just remember to sleep in shifts."

After that, we drift back to our former positions. Kirito, Koobus and I are joined by three more players- an old guy and two kids in their mid-teens. The old guy is handsome for his age and looks like a classical silver fox, and holds his rifle- an AUG A3- with a familiar grip, and barely looks fazed by the prospect of taking the town. His younger companions look like they're about to piss themselves IRL by comparison, both of them fresh-faced and desperately trying not to look like the terrified little boys that they are.

"Call me George," Silver Fox says as we settle down amidst the undergrowth. Sure enough, his gamer tag says "George79". His accent is that of a New Zealander. "These two are Max and Harry," he continues, indicating the young teens. "Pleasure to be fighting with you."

"Uncle, we talked about this," the taller one of the two whines. "It's AshX and XOak. You don't use your IRL names in-game."

"I did," I say. "Name's Reid Collins. Pleasure to meet you, sir." We all take it in turns to shake hands and introduce ourselves. This done, we settle down, rifles pointed down at the town.

"So, Koobus," George says after a while. "Let me guess: SANDF?"

"Yeah. 8 years. You?"

"I was with the army a while back, saw action in Afghanistan, fought in Syria after I left. This whole setup reminds me of that place: a bunch of irregulars meeting up to take on a numerically superior force. Not that it helped much, but… ah, well. What about you, young man?" he says, directing his question at myself.

"I'm a student," I reply. He laughs quietly.

"Could have fooled me," he says. "You've got the eyes of a stone cold fighter. I've seen enough of those to know that much…"

"Why are you in the game?" Kirito asks. "Forgive my manners, but- well, old folks don't really play this sort of thing."

"Blame the young ones," George chuckles. " I'm in my seventies now, and I was comfortably retired. But here's the thing about retirement: sooner or later, it gets boring. I missed my soldiering days, so these two- my nephews, you know- persuaded me to buy this game so we could play together. I know we got more than we bargained for, but we might as well make the best of it. And I get the feeling that we'll need all the soldiers we can get for this campaign. And besides, in this world, I feel young again. It's quite something."

I don't show it, but I respect George. He doesn't blame those kids for getting him stuck here; instead, he gets them to go with him into a combat zone to fight with him for their freedom, instead of him hiding back at the Starting City. It's obvious that he intends to protect them, and not fight from the rear. Quite possibly he intends to teach them his craft. I hope he survives this to bring them back to their parents.

"And what about you, young Kirito?" George asks. "You look like you know your way around, but you're obviously too young to be a soldier."

"I'd rather keep that to myself," he says. George accepts this and turns back to his observation of the town.

More people trickle in from the west. They are inducted and sent to their positions, and we wait. It gets dark, and those of us who can don night-vision gear. We sleep in shifts, waiting for the signal to attack. I fall asleep clutching my HK416.

Surprisingly, I rest well. By the time the order comes down to begin the assault, I'm wide awake.

Ronan

Day 3, and we still haven't reached Orinora. Turns out this leadership bollocks is harder than it looks.

To start with, we didn't get up by 6 on the start of the second day. These being a bunch of students and teenagers, most of them tried to sleep in until ten, despite repeated threats of thorough arse kicking from myself, the five soldiers/ ex-soldiers and the three others who were able to wake in time. It was 12 midday by the time we assembled in the bar downstairs.

It took another hour for them to decide what to do. Once we had all formed a Company- named Paramour Company- with the five military guys and some of the other players who didn't have their heads wedged up their arseholes convincing the others to make me the Captain, we started to talk about our next move. Some were in favour of marching on Orinora. Others wanted to farm the area surrounding the Starting City for XP, despite the fact that XP in this game does not work that way. The majority were in favour of the latter, so we headed out in search of things to shoot. This was harder than we thought, because a lot of people had the same idea as us, and had been killing a lot of the native fauna. Not that there was that much to begin with. This was mainly because this wasn't an MMORPG, so there weren't hordes of outlandish critters running around the place to provide easy targets for XP farming. Instead, there was a rather complicated simulated ecosystem in place, which was probably ruined by the masses of players running around shooting anything that wasn't human.

What there was were Copellian Militia patrols and outposts. It didn't take much searching to find them.

Our first attack was disastrous. The low-level militia were located in a bunker by the side of a road, manning a checkpoint. Following the advice of the soldiers, we tried a sneak attack, but this was ruined when one idiot from the American contingent stood up from the tall grass to get a better look, despite one of the American Marine players hissing at him to get down. The militia spotted him, and their machine gunner- armed with a Pecheneg machine gun- lit up their patch of grass. This killed the idiot, the Marine, and one of the Japanese players. At that point we abandoned the stealthy approach and opened fire. We had two RPGs between us, and they were used to demolish the bunker, killing the four militia inside and two that had been kneeling behind sandbags nearby. This didn't stop the remaining militia from opening fire, killing one more Japanese player.

As my first experience of combat without the illusion of a safe respawn, it was harrowing, mainly due to how excellently programmed the simulation was and the knowledge that a single shot could kill me. In my earlier engagements I at least had the comforting notion of respawning to hold on to, even if it was false. I could clearly see the grass stalks being shredded by gunfire, arcs of blood trailing through the air, the intricacies of the explosions. I managed to personally account for two of the militia, taking pot shots with my supressed SIG 552 from behind a tree planted at the side of the road. Kurona accounted for one; HotChipotle and one of his Marine companions accounted for one each; and the last was taken out by the female Korean player.

The others wanted time to mourn, but I- and a few others, including HotChipotle, one of his Marine buddies, Kurona and several others- convinced them that we needed to leave, before a patrol came our way. We stripped the bodies of our friends and enemies of anything useful, and left with our prize: a 20-seater 10-tonne truck that had been parked 20 metres down the road. The tank was full, and there were a couple of crates of ammo in the back.

We had outnumbered them two to one, but we still lost four men. We left their bodies behind, because the game has no mechanism for burials, short of physically digging a hole which we didn't have time for, so we set them on fire- the fire mechanics being excellently programmed. This debacle proved to us all, myself included, that we weren't ready for Orinora. Not yet, at any rate. So, though we now had the means to travel to Orinora quickly, no one felt at all ready for that.

What followed was a quick ride into a copse of woodland 500 metres away from the road. We took inventory of our loot- guns, ammo, supplies, and fuel for the truck- and then had an in-depth discussion about how and why we fucked up. It boiled down to inexperience, and one over-excited player doing something stupid. The military types lectured us all on how to act in a combat situation, and we all learned something. We took half an hour to mourn our dead, then sat around talking about what we might do next until a patrol came over to investigate the disturbance we had caused. There were only eight men on foot, and had likely been based here with the ones that we had already killed. This time, we resolved to do it properly.

Crawling again through the grass, and sticking to cover like the military types said, we managed to get within 20 metres of the enemy patrol. This time we caught them by surprise. Four grenades took out most of the patrol, with the remaining two being brought down by multiple shots from the Company members. Some were slightly accurate, but to be honest, it was mainly the sheer amount of flying bullets that brought them down. Not everyone in Paramour Company is a great shot.

Feeling chuffed that we managed to get it more or less right the second time, we stole their ammo and ran back to the truck. We drove off into the hills, feeling at the same time saddened by the deaths of four of our Company, and also really pleased with ourselves. We set up camp on the top of a hill, concealed by trees and undergrowth, ate dinner, and planned our next move.

The first night, we slept in shifts, waking the next morning at 9AM. We talked briefly, before deciding to recce the surrounding area and search for any sign of Copellian militia. Those of us in the know told the others that hunting the native fauna didn't net us much XP at all compared to our ambushes. The XP system works in two ways. Firstly, we receive a constant boost to our stats as an ambient XP system. For example, the more we use and practice with our weapons, the more ambient XP is allocated to our weapon handling stats and the more the System Assist ingrains the actions in our memories. The more we run or walk or perform physical feats, the more XP is assigned to our physical stats, emulating the natural processes of working out and getting fit. In addition, this enforces the skill-soft programs that help us do a lot of things in this game, including handle weapons, use vehicles, operate equipment and so on. The second system is more of a traditional XP system. XP is gained by killing enemies, having a high shot-hit ratio, working as a team, helping to take objectives, etcetera, etcetera. It is then used to enhance certain skills, such as medical training and operating vehicles, among other things.

So, whilst killing fauna does provide ambient XP boosts, the effect is negligible, and not particularly worth it. This isn't an MMORPG, where animal life is a reliable source of XP when you aren't slaying dragons.

After our discussion, we sent out four teams of two to scout out the area. This area was a hilly area northeast of the Starting City on the starting island, where the meadowland begins to give way to scattered woodland. We thought that we would find more militia outposts to assault. Eventually one of the scout teams made contact with six more players who had been tracking a militia force that had been scouring the area. The force was comprised of another 30-40 men travelling in two armed GAZ Tigrs, one modernised BTR 40 and one BTR 90. An MH6 had been seen flying over the convoy once every half-hour. According to the six-man group, they were based out of small fort in the hills 5 kilometres to the northeast, out of which several other patrols were based, in addition to another MH6 patrol, an NH90 patrol and even a Vietnam-era UH-1 Iroquois, or a Huey, depending on who you asked. The MH6s were reported as having machine gunners on their benches, whilst the Huey and NH90 had gunners operating mounted machine guns. We agreed to help the six players ambush the militia mounted force, and the MH6 if it came to it- whilst fast, they were lightly armoured and would be brought down if we could hit them.

Which brings us to now. It's three in the afternoon, and, under the tutelage of the Marines and Kurona, and one of the guys in the new team, we are spread out in the rocks and trees on either side of the road, which runs through the bottom of a winding, shallow valley. My SIG is pointed downrange at the point where the vehicles will appear, and Kurona is lying next to me, the bipod of his Type 89 unfolded and resting on the rock. Another player, one of the Japanese, is lying on the opposite side of Kurona, clutching an AK that my HUD designates an AK102 with an ACOG scope on the integrated rail on the top of the receiver. My SURPAT fatigues and Kurona's old-style Japanese SDF fatigues help us blend into the undergrowth. An AK74M, my back-up weapon looted from the patrols we hit yesterday, lies beside me. The two RPGs in our company are set up; the six-man team has an AT4 prepared to take out the BTR 90 with; the captured Pecheneg is ready to hose down the vehicles and infantry; and several players with grenade launchers- two attached to rifles, and one standalone- wait to ambush the militia in the event that they exit their vehicles. We are ready.

I receive a message from Reid. It is characteristically brief, and makes me feel better about not immediately using my leverage as Captain to hijack the 10-tonne to rush on to Orinora. Reid is now part of a team aiming to take the town, and they may be there for a few days. He sends his apologies again for running off on the first day. I decide to reply this time, telling him I'll follow him when I can and inform him that I am currently attacking enemy patrols close to Starting City. Shorter and more succinct than I would usually do, but I'm not really in the mood for talking with Reid. Not after he effectively abandoned me with a bunch of rioting strangers.

"This is a pretty good simulation," Kurona said, surveying the landscape. "I mean, there's some things that are missing- some tastes, smells, touches- but otherwise, it's very realistic. And the firearm mechanics are spot on."

"I know what you mean," I say. "These graphics… holy shit. And the landscape, too- you know my mate, Reid?"

"Yeah."

"According to him, they generated the landscape using software developed by a geologist in Canada, some autistic guy who was frustrated with inaccurate landscapes in videogames. Apparently it generates an entire geological history from scratch. They used it in that _T'Rain_ MMORPG that was all the rage a decade or so ago."

"It did a good job," the other Japanese player says. "This is a nice place. I don't mind fighting here."

"It's good ambush territory," Kurona agrees. "Lot's of cover and concealment, and some nice blind spots."

"Hopefully this'll go better than yesterday," I say. "What a fucking disaster. We aren't ready for this."

"It'll get easier," Kurona says, trying to reassure us. "It always does. And besides, it's not as if we're killing actual humans. That on the other hand never gets easier. I knew a couple of guys in the SDF who had no problem with killing people, though. One's in an SDF psych-eval unit. The other's an officer."

"Huh," says the other Japanese player.

"Figures," I say.

Another half hour passes: thirty minutes of a gentle breeze, sun, and the rustling of leaves and grass in simulated air currents. I take a bite of an energy bar, the tasteless virtual material dissolving into pixels in my mouth and serving no other purpose than to stave off punishment by the game's fatigue system. I make sure my weapon is ready several times. Over the tactical net, we can hear some of the more disciplined players berating others whose attention is wondering.

Finally, we get word from our two scouts further down the valley: the convoy is here. It's time for action.

"Finally," the Japanese player mutters, readying his AK102 and aiming through the scope.

"Remember, Kalo, set your rifle to semi-auto and focus on sharp-shooting," Kurona says. "You have a scope. Use it to take out priority targets, as we discussed."

"Got it."

"What about you?" I ask the sergeant.

"There aren't many of us here with proper firearms and combat experience. Myself, those Marines and a few others who know how to shoot will focus on dropping targets. The rest of the Company will focus on suppression."

"Sounds reasonable," I say. We've already been over the plan, of course. But it helps to hear everything said out loud like that. It makes me feel like we'll actually pull this off. But of course, no plan survives contact with the enemy, a point I had made when we drew up the battle plan.

We can hear the sound of the engines. The most problematic target will be the BTR 90, which has a 30mm cannon, a secondary machine gun, an automatic grenade launcher and probably an anti-tank missile as well. The BTR 40 will also probably have a heavy calibre machine gun.

"Heads up guys, they're going to round that corner in 30 seconds," one of the scouts says across the tactical net. I flick the fire selector from safe to semi-automatic, and say my bit.

"Alright, everyone, wait until all vehicles are in the kill zone then open fire. Priority targets are the lead and rear vehicle, and the BTR 90. We need to box them in there, and take out their armour support. Then we can mop up. Try and take one of the Tigrs or the BTR 40 undamaged, our friends can use that one. Remember what happened yesterday, and stay in cover. Oh, and try not to miss. Good luck," I finish, and turn to face the sergeant. "How was that?" I ask him.

"Good. To the point, and uncompromising. Eyes on the road, Lawman."

"Yeah," I say, facing back to the road. The engines are definitely louder. If this were IRL, I'd be sweating buckets. I feel even more tense- and even a little more terrified- than I did yesterday.

The BTR 90 rounds the corner and enters the killzone.

Game on.


	4. Chapter 4

_I still don't own SAO, only the OC's are mine. Feedback is still valued, and I wish you a good day._

Chapter 4

Ronan

The BTR 90 rounds the corner and enters the kill zone; good, we can kill two birds with one stone. The two Tigrs, and finally the BTR 40 follow it. All are coloured in a similar camouflage scheme to the militia: an urban/woodland digital camouflage pattern. As soon as the BTR 40 enters the kill zone, I speak into the tactical net:

"Game on, people. Hit it!"

Two RPG warheads and one AT4 rocket spear downwards from the rocks and undergrowth. The AT4 rocket and one RPG warhead plunge into the top of the BTR 90, demolishing the turret and causing the ammo store to cook off. The vehicle ploughs off the side of the road, jamming itself on a rock outcrop and sending the rear end sliding forward to block the road. The last warhead hits the cab of the BTR 40, killing the driver, the front passenger and the gunner. It slides to a halt, blocking any retreat. Beside Kurona, Kalo fires his AK102 twice, killing one of the Tigr gunners. The captured Pecheneg machine gun roars, heavy-calibre bullets sparking off the hood of the front Tigr as it slides to a halt. The rear doors of the Tigrs and the crippled, burning BTR 40 open and the infantry pile out; the doors of the BTR 90 remain closed.

Gunfire erupts through the valley. After the initial volley, the Pecheneg starts up again. It cuts down several militiamen as they run for cover that, at best, is ten metres away in the treeline. Most don't make it; the others try to hide behind the vehicles. The Pecheneg gunner in the other Tigr fires up into the hillsides, trying to hit the RPG operators, but a well placed shot- I can't see who from- catches the gunner below the rim of his primitive Kevlar helmet, blowing his brains out across the top of the Tigr's chassis.

I fire my SIG, trying to pin the infantry down. Grenades from the grenade launchers detonate on the road, throwing shrapnel that slices through militiamen. A group manage to break away into the trees and rock outcrops, and begin to fight back. I fire a few shots at them, and see one drop, but the others have learned from their mistakes and stay in cover, lobbing grenades at where they think we might be. There are explosions, and I hear someone scream. Ducking into cover, I check the Paramour Company roster and find that the grenade blast just took out an American player called Machinegun Jack that had been ambushing from the treeline. I feel relief that he isn't one of the Marines, then mentally kick myself. Such an arsehole thing to think.

"Who was that?" Kurona asks over the gunfire, as he puts accurate rounds downrange, with his Type 89, killing a militiaman taking cover behind the smouldering BTR 40.

"Machinegun Jack. One of the Yanks," I reply.

"One of the what?"

"Americans. One of the Americans," I correct myself. Fucking translation software.

The counter fire from the road stops, there being no more militia alive to mount a defence. All that are left are the group that made it into the trees. No one has a decent angle on them; we had relied on overwhelming firepower and the element of surprise to kill the militia before they could react properly. Now there are between five and ten men remaining that are now spreading out in the woodland. "This is a cluster fuck. _Again_ ," I say, before switching to automatic and firing the rest of my SIG's magazine in frustration at their last known position, ignoring Kurona's disapproving glance. "Bastards!"

Someone fires an RPG into the trees where the militia might be. Trouble is, they could hit our own guys.

"Hold fire with the RPGs!" HotChipotle shouts over the tac-net. "Wait until we can confirm their positions, we could hit our own guys."

"Kim," I say as I reload, referring to the male Korean player, who had been in the same position as Machinegun Jack, at the edge of the treeline. "Take your team and head those guys off. Everyone else, hold fire. The enemy are in cover, so at this point we're just wasting ammo. If you think you see one, make sure they're militia before firing-"

"That's called PID, Lawman," one of the Marines says.

"Yeah, that. Don't let them escape, but don't get stupid. Someone else, head down to support them."

"On it," replies another of the Marines.

"Okay, set to it. Klein," I address the leader of the six-man team, "How are your boys doing?"

"We have an angle down on where they might be. We'll see them if they try to cross the stream, there's no cover there. We'll make sure they don't break past us; that should let your team finish them off," the rough-looking but actually pretty nice Japanese player says.

"Do it," I say, as the light chop of rotor blades sounds throughout the valley. The MH6 has come to investigate. I resist the impulse to groan, but can't stop myself from muttering, "Oh, shit."

Ryotaro Tsuboi

AKA Klein

Ryotaro, known to his IRL family, friends and acquaintances (and, consequently, the rest of his six-man band) as Ryo, but known in Aincrad Combined Arms Online by the handle Klein (it sounded better in Japanese, honest), was feeling frustrated. Paramour Company had five actual soldiers on their roster. And Lawman, the steely but kind-eyed Brit that was the Captain of that group, had seemed quite competent. Their plan of attack should have had a high chance of success. They had blown up the BTRs, for fuck's sake. They had the entire kill zone covered. So _why_ were the last militia allowed to reach the treeline? They had put down so much lead it should have been impossible for any militia to escape that hell storm.

He remembered what Lawman had said during the planning phase: "No plan survives contact with the enemy." Fair point.

"What's the plan, Klein?" one of his mates said.

"Spread out along the stream, but stay in cover. We're the anvil, and Lawman's team is the hammer. They're going to herd them towards us, and we'll take them out. Remember: don't fuck up," Klein said.

"Don't fuck up," everyone else repeated, grinning.

"Unless they have climbing gear- or they manage to glitch jump or something- they won't be able to climb up the cliffs," Issin, their marksman, said. "They're trapped either way. I could get up on those rocks up there and pick them off," he said, hefting his MK14.

"Do it," said Klein as the light chopping of the MH6's rotors echoed around the valley. He readied his AK74M, and turned to Dale, their SAW gunner. "Dale, we need you up near Issin to cover as much of the stream as you can, but if that Little Bird buzzes you then light it up. We can't afford for its gunners to harass us."

"Got it," the big guy said, following Issin up the hill and holding his M249 squad automatic weapon across his chest.

"The rest of us will spread out along the stream, ten metre spacing. Don't let any of them pass us. Good luck, guys."

"Sure thing."

"Stay safe, Klein."

The others spread out, and Klein took cover behind a rock outcrop, scanning the treeline on the opposite side of the stream. He waited.

"Klein, just a heads up," Lawman said over the tac-net. "I'm sending down another team to deal with the runners. Watch out for the Little Bird."

"Roger that," Klein said, trying his best to sound reasonably professional. "If that Little Bird buzzes us, then Dale- that's our gunner- will light it up."

"Okay. Try not to die, pal."

There was movement in the trees on the opposite side of the stream, and Klein caught a glimpse of the woodland/urban digicam fatigues of the militia. He caught snatches of oddly accented and stilted Japanese, and raised his AK, aiming through the Kobra collimator sight, and waited.

"… There are enemies all throughout the treeline. There is nowhere to go."

"Quiet. They will hear us."

"Most of them are behind us or on the other side of the valley. If we stick to the rocks and the undergrowth and head northeast, then we can get back to Fort Sienna."

"There is an anti-tank unit on this side of the valley."

"No choice."

Klein was freaked out to hear the AI-controlled NPCs talking in a fashion closely resembling actual people. The speech may have been oddly clipped and brisk, but they were clearly holding an _actual conversation_ , not just spouting pre-recorded context-sensitive phrases.

No matter.

"Guys, this is Klein. I've got eyes on. Marking them now," he said, marking the three militia that were visible.

"This is Kim. Thanks for the mark; we're closing in."

Gunfire erupted in the trees. "Devil Dog here; taking fire."

"Issin, you have a shot?" Klein asked the marksman. The crack of a rifle chambered for 7.62x51mm NATO rounds echoed from further up the slope.

"Yeah, one down." Crack. "Make that two. Oh, wait. He's just injured. Now two of his friends are trying to medic him." Crack. "Now there's just one of his friends." Crack. "No more friends. It's a lonely life, indeed. Oh, shit. The injured guy just got into cover."

"Well, that's three down," said Klein. "Lawman, you get any of that?"

"Yeah, nice work, Klein. Give my regards to your shooter," Lawman said as the sound of the Little Bird helicopter's rotors grew louder. "Kim and Devil Dog should have them cornered by now."

More gunfire erupted. Klein saw another militiaman approach through the trees, and shifted his aim so that the reticule of the Kobra sight was centred on the militiaman's chest. He fired, and a spray of blood erupted from the man's chest and he collapsed into a bush.

"Another one down," he said.

"Watch your fire, we're closing in," said Kim. "Devil Dog, talk to me."

"Got eyes on two of them, one of them injured," the Marine said. "We're pinning them down and marking them now."

"Got one. Nice work, Kikan," Kim said.

"Wrap it up, the helicopter's almost here," one of the scouts said.

There was another flurry of gun shots. "That's it," Devil Dog said. "Woods are clear."

"Everyone down!" Dale shouted. "The chopper's here!"

"This day just never, fucking, _ends_ ," Klein groaned to himself.

The Little Bird had been flying low through the valley, and rounded the buffs at speed. The gunners on the benches opened up with their Pechenegs, tracer fire lancing downwards into the valley, strafing the most likely shooting positions. Lawman began shouting orders for his Company's gunners to shoot the craft down, but it was too quick, quickly passing them by to come into a hover at the next corner of the valley. The bench gunners opened fire at the origin points of the tracer fire, shredding vegetation and splintering rock.

"Dale, Issin! Get the Little Bird!" Klein shouted into the Tac-Net.

"On it!"

Tracers spat out from Dale's SAW, whilst Issin's MK14 cracked repeatedly. Sparks flew from the helicopter's chassis, and the glass of the canopy cracked. The helicopter strafed to the side, dodging an RPG fired by one of Lawman's men. Dale ducked back into cover as a stream of Pecheneg rounds smacked into the ground around him, and the Little Bird flew back up the valley. Dale fired back as the enemy machine gunners let up, 5.56x45mm NATO rounds impacting along the fuselage and hitting the right-hand-side gunner.

"One gunner down," Dale said. A line of tracer fire from Paramour Company's captured Pecheneg impacted with the Little Bird, the heavier rounds tearing through the chassis. As it turned to give it's remaining gunner a chance to return fire, Dale opened up, killing the gunner and the pilot and finally dealing enough damage to the aircraft to bring it down. Smoking, the craft dipped downwards, ploughing straight into a rock outcrop and crumpling against the stone. The craft caught fire and crashed straight down into the valley floor. Silence reigned through the valley for a full minute.

"Is it over?" Issin asked.

Ronan

Despite the death of Machinegun Jack, the ambush has been decreed a success. The entire enemy force has been eliminated, we've got ourselves two Tigrs and a bunch of equipment out of it, and we didn't fuck it up too badly. Sure, seven men managed to slip our net, but otherwise the entire operation was a textbook ambush, according to Kurona and HotChipotle.

We took one of the Tigrs, and Klein's unit took the other, before distributing weapons and supplies evenly between our two teams. We took some time to clear the road of the wreckage, bringing in our ten-tonne to help tow the BTR 90 off the road, before shunting the Btr 40 into the undergrowth. The burning little bird had come to rest in a rocky ditch, so we left it there.

"You know, there are a few other groups that are planning on taking the fort these guys were based at," Klein says, indicating the bodies chucked into the grass at the side of the road. Our equipment has been packed up into the truck and Tigr, and Klein's team has done the same in their vehicle. "Want to come with? It'll be easier with more people, and I just got word that the other patrols were ambushed. Fort Sienna is vulnerable. We can do this, Lawman!"

Klein looks enthusiastic over our success, and I'm about to agree- as are Kurona and HotChipotle standing behind me- but I catch myself. Reid is still at Orinora, and may be there for a few days yet. If I want to catch up to him then I probably need to leave now, and bring the rest of Paramour Company with me.

But we aren't ready for Orinora. We had the advantage in this fight and even then we still lost a man. I doubt we could survive Orinora. I turn to the sergeant and the Marine, both of whom nod.

"The rest of the guys are behind this, Lawman," HotChipotle says. "We're ready to move on the Fort so long as we don't have to do it alone."

"But we aren't ready for Orinora," says Kurona. "That would finish us."

I look back to Klein. Go with this scruffy-looking Japanese guy and take Fort Sienna, an easier proposition, or chase after Reid, go to Orinora with the Company, and probably get most of my unit killed.

It's a no-brainer.

"Let's go take that fort," I say.

Reid

"Anyone else severely regretting their life choices?" Kirito says. It's almost five in the morning, I'm wide awake, and the order to attack goes out in just a few minutes. I'm also bloody terrified, because I'm about to attack a fucking town.

Twenty-one more players drifted in over the course of the evening; first, a duo of Aussie players. Then came a solo player, a tall black guy called Agil. The next lot, a seven-man team of Canadians and Americans from the northern states, came in at eight in the evening, followed not long after by a ten-man team of South Africans. Finally, there was a female Japanese player wearing a hooded poncho bearing LBX caiman camouflage and carrying a lightweight Magpul PDR- not actually a real weapon, but a concept weapon from the 2010s that was only ever manufactured as an airsoft gun. She ended up being allocated to our six-man band. Her name is Asuna.

This prompted a change of plans, which is when things got interesting. The sun was almost at the horizon, and most of us were back at the staging area, which now also played host to a captured GAZ Tigr armed with an automatic grenade launcher obtained by the Canadian/North American team. Harvard, Amir and Diabel again stood in the bed of the Hilux.

"Okay, everyone," Harvard began again. "Slight change of plans." Cue the groaning.

"Oh, can it," Amir said. The grumbling cut off. Harvard continued.

"Initially, we were going to try for a lighting assault: in and out before they know what hit them. We have the numbers for it, but we now think that it would be better to go for a stealth approach. We've gotten word from players closer to the Starting City that people have been taking a lot of casualties from acting carelessly- assaulting superior forces, not taking cover, mistaking concealment for cover, not aiming down their god damn sights. Apparently, someone pulled the pin out of a grenade, let go of the spoon and forgot to throw it. We're still waiting on casualty reports." Harvard paused, looking disappointed. "So, we redrafted our plan of attack. Amir?"

"Thank you, Harvard," Amir said. His accent was English, probably somewhere in the Midlands. He also sounded perpetually pissed off, like he was constantly about to start growling instead of talking like a normal human being. I don't blame him. "Now, we were going to assault head on before, but we now know A. That it won't work, and B. That we were retards to think it might. The Militia are poorly equipped and poorly trained, that's true. But it transpires that their AI is actually highly sophisticated, making them a match for trained soldiers. A frontal assault will just get us killed at this stage. It is for this reason that the plan has been altered to a stealth assault. We intend to kick off at five in the morning still, but this time we intend for our forces to already be in the town before the shooting starts. We now have sufficient numbers that an attack won't automatically be a suicide mission, provided that we act smart.

"At 5:00AM, our squads will make their way stealthily into town and take up positions in the buildings. There are only 70 infantry present, and they are arranged into squads, so they won't be able to cover the entire area, and we should be able to avoid them if we're careful. The town is poorly lit; most civilian NPCs keep their shutters closed and their curtains drawn, and there are only intermittent streetlights along the main streets. Most streets have been observed to be entirely unlit. Because of this, remaining hidden from their patrols should be easy enough that an idiot could do it. The militia don't have thermal or night vision, and most don't have flashlights or weapon-mounted tac-lights, so the only wildcards will be the patrolling Tigrs, which have headlights, obviously.

"This should hopefully allow us to remain undetected. Provided we aren't discovered, once we have taken up ambush positions, we immediately kill as many hostiles as we can. We're aiming not to wreck too many of the vehicles; in particular, we want to take the BMPs, Helicopters and their supply trucks intact. The Tigr armoured cars would also be nice to have, but since those things will be patrolling, it's understandable if we have no choice but to take them out." At that point, Diabel decided to chip in.

"Killing the vehicle crews is a must. Our observations over the past few days have shown that the BMPs and the choppers are deactivated at night and that the crews all sleep in the same building. Myself and a select team of operators will be the ones to take them out," Diabel said, looking as if his ego had hijacked his mouth. A small number of Japanese and American players nearby, including that idiot Kibaou, also took the opportunity to look pleased with themselves. Smarmy bastards.

"Quite right," Amir continued, looking as if that admission had cost his sanity and his dignity dearly. "Which leads me to my next point: _do not shoot the helicopters or the fuel and ammo trucks_. This should be a no-brainer, but I'll explain anyway: Most helicopters, particularly those built earlier than the 2030s, are delicate instruments of flight. They are _not_ air-mobile tanks, and they are not bullet sponges. One wrongly placed bullet can render them inoperable. As for the fuel and ammo trucks, I'm not even going to explain those, they're so fucking obvious." Chuckles all around at that, but it was all hollow. It was obvious that we all knew that we are green enough to make elementary mistakes. Amir continued, "If you have suppressors, use them. They won't actually silence your shots- suppressors never do- but they will prevent the enemy from pinpointing your positions."

After that, Diabel took the stand, explaining which squads would be taking which areas of the town, and how our special weapons and the AGL-armed Tigr would come into play.

"Our recon teams will be providing sniper fire once the shooting starts," Diabel said. "Our guy with the M95 will be able to take out any Tigrs that pose a problem. The M240 team will be positioned on the Western slope to fire down into the valley, and will be used to take out any patrols in the western side of town. The Tigr will be brought in to deal with any problematic groups of infantry, but will not be driven into town. Instead, we've decided to use it to provide fire support from the hillside using the grenade launcher, which I believe has already been zeroed?" He directed this last to the Canadians and Americans that had acquired it, and was answered by nods from that group. "Great. The risk of anti-tank fire from enemy infantry armed with RPGs and possible AT launchers has been deemed too great, which is why we won't be using it in the town. As for the mortars, those will be a last resort. We haven't been able to zero them yet, as such an action will give away our position, and the risk of collateral damage to the town and NPC population is too great, not to mention our own people.

"Which reminds me: some of you may or may not know that how much of a rapport we have with NPC civilian populations determines how much support we get in a region. If we take out the enemy quickly with a minimal amount of collateral damage, then they'll love us and we'll have access to more materiel and supplies in the region. Blow up their houses and kill their kids, then at best we won't have their support, at worst they'll collaborate with the enemy or maybe even try to kill us. We want to avoid that, as it will make things a bit more difficult in the long run. Just felt that I should put that out there, make sure everyone knows the score."

"Thanks, guys," said Harvard. "Now, finally: not everyone has noticed, but the beta testers left us a gift. These booklets," he holds up a small, flexible electronic reader pad, "Contain everything we should need to survive the next few weeks. The beta testers learned from their mistakes and managed to find if not the best then at least a decent way of surviving the early stages-"

"That's bullshit!" someone shouted. Harvard lost his composure, but only for a moment, scowling at his boots before looking up again.

"Okay, who said that?" he said, looking and sounding like an annoyed teacher, looking down at a group near the Hilux. To nobody's surprise, Kibaou stepped forward, the rest of the goon squad behind him backing him up. Harvard looked slightly disappointed; Amir facepalmed and visibly ground his teeth, whilst Diabel looked slightly awkward whilst trying (and failing) to look as nonchalant as possible, staring off into the general direction of Orinora with what he probably thought was his best thinking face.

"Okay, Kibaou. Why do you say that?" Harvard asked patiently.

"Since this whole shit-show started, the beta testers have done precisely jack shit to help the rest of us out!" Kibaou shouted, gesticulating like a drama student attempting Shakespeare. "We've been dropping like flies, and where the fuck have those assholes been? We lost good men!"

"Well I hardly think they've been sitting around with their thumbs up their arses," Amir started angrily, but Kibaou cut across him.

"Then where are they?" Kibaou said, addressing the assembled fighters. "With their help, we could've had this scrap wrapped up and moved onto the next fight already! Why haven't they shown themselves?"

"Because of idiots like you, you insufferable little git," Amir snapped, his anger boiling over, but the spiky-haired retard continued his tirade.

"They haven't shown because they're cowards!" Kibaou shouted, lifting his arms as he addressed the Japanese-American goon squad, and the rest of the war band behind them. Sadly, some of them were nodding at his words. "They can't do jack shit now they can't respawn! They're probably just gathering all the best gear and leaving us in the dust-"

"What is your major malfunction?"

Kibaou stopped, and turned to where the tall black man, Agil, was stood several metres away, arms folded and his face a mask of stony disapproval with not a small amount of disdain. The image was helped by the FAL battle rifle and the tactical shotgun hanging from his heavily muscled shoulders by their slings.

"Uh, I mean, come on, man," Kibaou said. "None of them have shown up here. They probably just cut their losses and ran. I mean, what kind of douche bag does that, when there are a bunch of people counting on them? Right?"

Agil just shook his head. "I don't doubt that they're already here, uh _Kee-bow,_ " Agil said, reading Kibaou's name off his tag. "But with this sort of reception I don't find it hard to imagine that they'd want to keep low. But seriously, kid, were you dropped as a child?"

"I- I'm sorry?"

"There are 70 enemy soldiers in that village, plus support. Most people here have little if any tactical training, we're underequipped, and our plan is held together with string and wishful thinking. And you're trying to start a _witch hunt_? What the fuck is wrong with you? And anyway, where would the beta testers even run to when they're trapped like us?"

"But the beta testers-"

"Left us a pretty good guide to get us started," Agil said, holding up his own virtual booklet, "and are probably already here among us, because they have just as much reason to fight as us. And if they aren't here, then I don't doubt that they are with other groups spread across the countryside, trying to keep them alive. Now stop talking shit, stop trying to divide our house and fall in line. United we stand, and all that." Agil looked up to The trio standing in the back of the Hilux. Harvard nodded at the other American, smiling. Agil slipped back into the ranks. It happened quickly, but I could see him _fuck you_ at Kibaou and the goon squad as he passed them.

"Thanks for that," Harvard said. "I'd prefer that we not hear any more of this baseless prejudice. If everyone is aware of their roles in this, then return to your positions, read those booklets and get ready to move by 0500. Any questions? No? Then you're dismissed."

Hours later, and it's almost time to move. The booklets at least did contain some useful information. Most of it was common-sense stuff. Important, because people have a tendency to miss the obvious. The tip about keeping track of ammo expenditure and rules for CQB will hopefully keep us alive. The other tips about playing the game mechanics were helpful, if sparse, though I didn't know that enemy NPCs reacted slower in large groups before now. Something to with simulating complacency. Now that's dedication. Well done, Kayaba, you clever little wanker.

"I like to think that I have led a long and full life… so, no. Not really," says George quietly back in the present, responding to Kirito's question. "I do regret that the lads have to experience war so early though," he continues, nodding to where his two nephews are laying in the underbrush several metres away.

"I wish I listened to my smokin' hot wife," says Koobus, caressing his R5. "She wanted my to lay off the fockin' computer games. Wish I'd listened to her."

"Fair enough," says Kirito, his voice carrying the ghost of a smile. He turns to the lone female in our group. "Um. How about you?"

The girl doesn't react at first. She lies still, her camouflaged poncho helping her blend into the darkness and her PDR aimed down towards the village. After a few seconds, she speaks.

"Of course."

George chuckles, whilst Koobus snorts. "Last place you'd want to be, eh? Stuck in the dirt with some lead-slinging ground pounders? Probably miss all your perfume and Hello Kitty-"

He stopped as she whipped her head towards him, eyes glinting like the points of rapiers in the moonlight. Koobus raised his hands.

"Ach, sorry. Just trying to relieve the tension, you know."

"Come on, man," I say. My HK416D Is ready, and aimed down towards the settlement. I am fully kitted out; my helmet mounts my night vision goggles, currently flipped down, and the suppressor is attached to the threaded barrel. A round is chambered, but the safety is on. Can't risk an accidental discharge, not now.

"Yeah, sorry," Koobus says. "It's the waiting. Never gets any better."

"Remember, if we walk into an ambush, don't falter," Kirito says. "Charge straight into them, and the militia NPCs will falter." Kid's certainly knowledgeable about all this.

"And if you have to retreat, peel out," says George. "Give each other covering fire."

"And always aim down," I say, waiting for the others to finish the phrase.

"Your fucking sights," everyone else bar Asuna finishes. Koobus, George and Kirito are grinning, but the two New Zealand kids appear not to be. Understandable.

"Okay. AshX and XOak," I say, using their screen names, "You bring up the rear with George. Koobus, you take centre. Kirito and I will take point. Asuna…" I falter. She hasn't said more than 20 words since she was assigned to our unit, but at least she seems to know what she's doing. "You do you." She just looks at me, slightly confused. Did the translation software act up? But after a moment, she just nods, and comes to stand by myself and Kirito.

"I'll take point with you, if that's okay," she says. Kirito and I look at each other. His expression says: Is this a good idea? To which I just shrug, essentially the non-verbal equivalent of saying: No idea, let's just go with it.

"Do you know anything about modern combat? Gun fighting, perhaps?" George asks her.

"I practice fencing and karate. I imagine gun fighting is similar, just at longer ranges. And with more hiding behind walls," she says flatly. After a few seconds of silence, George and Koobus chuckle.

"Yeah, it's pretty much that," Koobus says, grinning. "Just keep your head down, girl, and always remember: if you can see them, they can see you; concealment isn't cover; and bullets go through things, so pick your cover wisely."

"And know when to fold 'em," George adds. Asuna nods. I check the time: 0458. Two minutes. My heart is racing.

"Okay, last minute checks, guys," Kirto says. I watch as he checks his P90 with a degree of familiarity that is out of place for a young teenage boy like him. A beta tester? Possibly. Probably. Given Kibaou's ravings last night, I wouldn't be surprised if the kid wanted to lay low. Frankly, I don't care if he's a beta tester or not. He's here, with us, fighting for the cause, and that's good enough for me.

"And remember, five metre spacings at all times," says George.

"And just try to stay alive, eh," says Koobus. "If not, then I'll see you in Valhalla, or heaven, or whatever."

I'm terrified, but this job needs doing, or we'll never get out of this hell. We'll never see our family or friends again, never feel the wind or sun or rain on our skin. The fear is there to be used. It's probably the same for the others; though I bet George and Koobus are better at harnessing and handling it. I move from prone to a kneeling position, anticipating the attack order.

"We'll be okay, boys, lady," Koobus says. I want to believe him. So do George's nephews, by the looks of things. The taller one is trembling. The shorter one is obsessively checking his weapon, a suppressed M4A1. I check the time again: 0459. Things are about to kick off. I look around at my unit again. It strikes me that we still haven't chosen a squad leader; so far, our interactions have been remarkably… _democratic_. It reminds me of an Adam Roberts book I read once.

George and Koobus have combat experience, but neither stepped into the leader role, instead offering experience and guidance. Kirito was the same, making it even more likely that he was a beta tester. I've just been trying to ensure that we are all coordinated by the time we go in. The two boys have been following our lead, whilst Asuna has just hung around on the sidelines, not that I can blame her. It must be tough for her, surrounded by testosterone-charged men itching to fight. Overall, it's a decent team we have here, with no conflicting personalities to screw things up.

I look down at the dimly lit town below, and imagine bullets tearing through my skin, shrapnel shredding my flesh, flames consuming my body. This isn't how I wanted to die. I always pictured it being so much more peaceful, maybe in seventy-odd years, with open fields full of tall, swaying, golden grass, and a nice sunset.

No use thinking about that now. I breath slowly, banishing any lingering concerns about my mortality from my mind. I focus on my rifle, aiming through the ELCAN sight at the village, observing the militia patrols as the weave through the buildings and bordering fields. I mentally run through my pre-combat checklist: rifle, round chambered and safety engaged until we make our move- check. NVGs- check, full battery. HK USP .45 Tactical: loaded, round chambered, safety on, suppressor attached. Blade: ready to go. Vest: strapped tight. I look around at the others. Koobus has a hungry look on his face. Kirito's face is set in a grimly stoic mask. George has his eyes closed; I think he's praying. The two kids still look to be on the verge of shitting their combat trousers. Asuna's face is hidden by the hood of her LBX Caiman-camouflaged poncho; the pattern breaks up her silhouette in the moonlight, but at this range I can see the square set of her shoulders. I look back out the valley. Out there, the rest of the war band is waiting for the order. Reassuringly, none are visible to the naked eye.

The air feels thick with tension. The sort that makes it hard to breath; that you can cut with a knife.

" _This is Harvard to all teams, we are a go. Move in, people._ "

Thank fuck for that.

 _If you get the Adam Roberts reference, then kudos. Have a good day and thank you for your time._


	5. Chapter 5

_SAO still belongs to Reki Kawahara, and the OCs are still mine. Please enjoy._

Chapter 5

Reid

Our path is marked out by glowing red vectors in our HUDs. The path takes us through the most covered route into Orinora, past as few guard patrols as possible. Kirito and I take point, 5 metres between us, creeping quietly through the underbrush, moving from tree to tree, rock to rock. Asuna follows five metres behind, her broken silhouette slipping ghostlike from shadow to shadow, invisible in the moonlight. Behind her comes Koobus, his already bulky silhouette made ogre-like by his armour and small arsenal of offensive weaponry. If we have to go loud and use the RPG, then chances are we will have already fucked up, but I'd rather have it and not need it. George and his nephews bring up the rear. The teens have limited success in moving stealthily, and my heart jumps every time they accidentally break a twig underfoot, but George is silent like a wraith, to his credit.

HUD icons show our forces slipping down the hillsides into the valley, some icons holding back to provide observation and sniper cover. The night carries a light breeze, the moonlight occasionally being obscured by scudding clouds. Not the best night for a stealth assault, but at least the wind and the rustling of leaves masks the sound of our approach.

Kirito and I reach the edge of the first field, slipping quietly out of the woodland undergrowth, under the hedge and into the irrigation ditch bordering the field. The ditch affords us decent cover from the road, and the near-chest-height crops provide us with concealment. Kirito holds up his hand. It's not an actual military hand signal, but it's meaning is clear: _stop_. He points to the road up ahead, where a line of four militia men are walking slowly in the moonlight. I sight up on them whilst Kirito updates the rest of the squad on the enemy activity. Four men, two with AKs, one with a FAL, and the last with a Pecheneg. Only two wear helmets, and the lead man is the only one using a torch- a handheld unit, not even affixed to his rifle. Their weapons point down at the ground, and their stances are loose. They aren't expecting an attack.

Four underequipped and complacent men. Add in that response delay programming, and taking them out would be easy. Doing it quietly is another thing entirely. I shake my head; not worth the risk.

I slide down into the ditch. "Not worth it," I murmur. Kirito looks down at me and nods. Like me, he wears NVGs, though his are mounted to an old-style Pro-Tec helmet. His entire loud-out indicates high-speed, low-drag, and intelligent decisions born from experience. Definitely a beta tester.

"We'll let them pass," he says, equally quietly. We wait for the patrol to move on, and crawl into the field. Cover is sparse, and the ditches at the sides of the field perpendicular to the treeline are exposed to the road. If we were to use them and were caught, they would be death funnels. Dying in a virtual ditch is, needless to say, not how I want to die. Fields and sunsets, and all that. In the absence of decent cover, we decide to stick to the crops, crawling on our bellies along the lines cut by automated tractor wheels. At our signal, the others follow, spreading out across the field in a staggered line so that we don't present one big, juicy target. The taller teenager, AshX, remains at the ditch, scanning with the ACOG attached to his supressed M14 battle rifle. When we reach the ditch between the field and the path, we spread out, waiting for his word.

"All clear," he says quietly over the tac-net. We quickly cross the path into the next ditch, and wait for the teen to catch up. Wen he does, Kirito and I advance, then Asuna, and so on. We repeat the process until another patrol comes close, at which point we all stay still beneath the gently swaying fronds of the crops. No, not another patrol- the same one. Same weapons, loadouts, order, everything.

Between the low light, constantly moving vegetation and our camouflage patterns, the enemy easily pass us by none the wiser, heading straight for the buildings. One peels off from the group; words are exchanged, and the other three militiamen enter Orinora, leaving the last behind. The man takes out a cigarette and a lighter, lights up and takes a long drag, the end of the cigarette glowing softly. He is facing north, away from us. Easy target, but any gunshot, even supressed, will give away our position. To allow that to happen now, when we are so close to the settlement, would be the height of tactical idiocy. But none of us want to advance with this guy at our rear.

"I can take him," Kirito whispers over the tac-net. I look over to him, peering between the crops, and see him tapping the hilt of one of his machetes. I nod. No response. Of course; he can't see my movement through the crops, so send my agreement over tac-net instead.

Kirito moves, as the rest of us watch. With barely a sound, he slips through the foliage, silently drawing the blade. The militiaman continues smoking, oblivious to Kirito's approach, even as the young Japanese teen sidles up behind him. Kirito stands. I barely catch the whispered "Hey," the words captured by the breeze, but the militiaman turns. His reaction is of average speed, his posture betraying confusion more than anything else. His stance is still casual as Kirito brings his blade heavily into the NPC's throat, dragging him down to the ground and into the cover of the crops. The fronds tremble for several seconds, before resuming their gentle swaying.

"Clear," Kirito says. I move up; the others follow. I stop at his side, slide the NVGs up from my eyes and look at his handiwork.

Holy shit.

"No problem," Kirito breathes as he sheathes his blade, but I can tell he's shaken. I expect that the beta was nowhere near this real. I make the mistake of looking at the man's face.

Here's the thing. I know he's an NPC, sure, but that face is at this point one of the single most disturbing things I've seen in my eighteen years on this Earth. I expect I'll be seeing it in my dreams for years to come. I don't want to think about how it must be for Kirito. What was it like to drag this struggling, disturbingly realistic NPC down to his death, to cut him open with such ruthless efficiency?

Another reason for us to hate Kayaba, I guess. At least this is all still virtual, at the end of the day.

"Good job," I whisper. No sense dwelling on it now. Behind me, George relays news of the kill back to Harvard and the command group, whilst Kirito and I move forwards, Asuna behind us. There are still no audible gunshots. I check the time: 0509. I look to the east. Sure enough, there is a thin green haze there, silhouetting scattered clouds. Night won't last forever. Time to move.

We move through tall grass and weeds, slipping into the shadows of a brick barn building. Koobus, George and his two nephews take up positions on the corners and up against the wall, covering the angles, whilst Kirito and I prepare to enter. He keeps his P90 ready, whilst I let the HK416 hang on its sling and draw the USP, disengaging the safety. We stack up on the side door, Asuna standing to one side and covering the doorway, her PDR held loosely. She has the right idea, but she's no soldier. At least, not yet.

The door is slightly ajar. I lift up three fingers and count down from three. On one, I push the door slightly. The hinges creak, but the night wind masks the sound beyond five metres. When the door is open far enough, Kirito enters, quickly but quietly, P90 held high. I follow, bringing up the USP.

The barn is empty of human occupants, though it contains numerous odds and ends and has a small tractor in the centre. "Barn's clear," I murmur into the tac-net. Kirito looks at me.

"One down," he whispers, smiling wryly below his NVGs.

"A hundred or so to go," I reply equally quietly.

Here's the thing about CQB: it's stressful. Even when you aren't actually in combat, you're still constantly on your toes, all the time. Hostiles could be around any corner. Traps could be anywhere, making advancing a painstaking exercise in terror and frustration. These are bad combinations in any combat scenario, but here they are exacerbated by limited sight lines and skewed acoustics. Your mind goes into overdrive trying to predict enemy movements, and you begin to imagine hostiles around every corner. Walking down a corridor becomes a harrowing game of chance, rounding a corner a leap of faith. Death can come from any direction, at any range.

At least in woodland the claustrophobia isn't so bad. Here, it is suffocating. And death can come from anywhere. Literally, anywhere. A sniper in a window. Any window. Pick a window. Chances are, it's that window, just there, with the best firing angle onto your team. That alleyway, over there. There's probably a machine gun team in it. That dumpster, or bin, whatever you call it. It's probably booby-trapped. Maybe there's a drone flying overhead, directing enemy squads onto yours. You could be moments away from dying and you wouldn't even know it.

I can honestly say I fucking hate this.

That said, I think we've done a marvellous job so far, displaying Solid Snake-esque levels of sneakiness as we infiltrate Orinora. Not quite Sam Fisher, but I'll take what I can get at this point. We are almost at our target building. The front entrance is guarded by two men, whilst another two march a circuit through the streets. We approach the rear entrance, and take a knee in the small courtyard, surrounded on all sides by two-storey buildings. The darkness is all-encompassing, but we keep our weapons ready, just in case. AshX has switched to his secondary, an MP5SD6, a suitable weapon for CQB. There is little need for his M14 during street fighting. Reports come in over the tac-net: teams silently eliminating sentries, reporting positions taken, their readiness. It's probably all about to go tits-up. No plan survives contact with the enemy, and not for this long.

"George, Koobus, you take point and clear the ground floor. Kirito and I will take the upper floor. Asuna, AshX, XOak, hold here until we call you," I whisper, the tac-net relaying my words. I receive affirmatives from all, and George and Koobus stack on the door, the rest of us covering them. George has his supressed AUG A3 ready, but Koobus only has his sidearm drawn, a supressed Vektor SP1, as his R5 does not mount a suppressor. The two prepare to enter.

And then the lovely calm of the night is shattered by the sharp reports of numerous assault rifles.

Heads snap around, trying to get a fix on the direction of the gunfire, an impossible task thanks to the fucked-up acoustics. Reports come in over the tac-net of troops-in-contact; I check the IDs, and, surprise, it's Diabel, Kibaou and the goon squad. And they just ran smack bang into an enemy squad one block down from the vehicle crews' barracks building. 50% casualties in the first salvo, including Diabel.

They had one fucking job.

I turn to the others. "We're on. Diabel's dead and his squad is under fire. Time to go loud."

"Fockin' A," says Koobus, and he and George breach the building, moving quickly through the building to the front door. Kirito and I follow them in as George opens the front door. The two militiamen outside already have their rifles raised, but aimed in the direction of the shooting, and turn around in surprise only to take rounds to the face from myself and George. George and Koobus duck back into the hallway as the door splinters under a hail of gunfire from the two patrolling militiamen. I loose sight of them as I follow Kirito upstairs, but hear supressed gunfire from outside. As I pass a small inset window, I look out into the courtyard to see Asuna in cover, firing in disciplined bursts at the entranceway. XOak is on the ground and reloading his M4, and AshX is stood in the open, blasting away with the MP5 at targets that I cannot see. Then they are out of sight, and Kirito and I rush to clear the rooms, finding only panicking civilian NPCs. I listen in on the tac-net: Kibaou and the remains of his squad have entered the barracks building, and have begun eliminating the vehicle crews.

Then three loud bangs sound in quick succession. Not RPGs or grenades; too evenly spaced. The tac-net reports confirm it: one of the BMP-2s is active. Diabel's team wasn't fast enough.

Well, shit. No plan survives contact with the enemy, anyway.

Kirito takes up a position next to one of the windows overlooking the street. "What's that commotion in the courtyard?" he asks, as he peeks over the window sill into the dimly lit street below, lifting his NVGs. I join him on the opposite side of the window, lift my own NVGs and peer down as well. Muzzle flashes light up the buildings, and an explosion a few streets away casts the small town in a hellish glow. The two militiamen are taking cover in a shop front on the opposite side of the street, continuing to fire at the lower floors of our building.

"Keep your head down," I say, as the retorts of gunfire grow louder. There are more explosions- grenades, most likely- as well as occasional loud cracks that I assume to be the work of the sniper with the Barrett M95. A continuous report of automatic fire starts, almost like the sound of someone closing a zip; that will be the M240, up in the hillside. It is answered by long bursts from mounted Pechenegs and the whoosh-bang of RPGs. Explosions accompanied by the sound of tearing metal signifies the deaths of Tigr armoured cars. It's all kicking off, and I can barely see it from this single window in this quiet street.

"Asuna and the kids are being engaged. I don't know who by," I say.

"Asuna, get XOak and AshX out of the courtyard," Kirito says across the tac-net. "Not into our building, into one of the neighbouring ones. I'll cover you." He turns to me. "Do us a favour and kill those two fuckers outside?" he says, indicating the two militiamen with his thumb.

"Sure thing. Stay safe," I say, but he's already moving towards the rear of the building. I tuck the HK416D's stock into my shoulder, and move back from the window at a crouch, taking care not to let myself be seen by the men outside. Another unsupressed rifle fires, from downstairs this time: Koobus, going loud with the R5. I can hear him swearing in Afrikaans, the translator software kindly providing me with explanations of his words. He's vulgar, sure, but also very inventive, I'll give him that.

Safety is off. Scope is zeroed, and set to 1x for close-in work. Round in the chamber. All set.

I rise above the edge of the windowsill, still shrouded in darkness, and sight on the shop front. Two contacts. One with a battle rifle, judging by the report, firing in short but inaccurate bursts at the lower floors of our building. It's the thought that counts, I guess. The other has a minimi variant, and is pouring rounds on the front of the building, supressing Koobus and George. He's the priority target. I line up on him, and fire.

There is a brief flash of blood across my reticule, and the window glass cracks in a fine, near-opaque web as my bullet passes through. The second man shifts his aim upwards, and fires at my window. I catch a glimpse of his weapon: a HK G3 variant, chambered for 7.62x51mm NATO. One hit from that and I'm dead. I launch myself backwards as the glass shatters and the frame splinters, before a second rifle joins the fray: Koobus' R5. Two more shots from the BMP echo through the streets, and I feel the concussive force of the detonating HE rounds, followed by the whine of engines.

The BMP-2 is getting closer.

Kazuto Kirigya

AKA Kirito

Kirito reached the inset window just in time to see a burst of assault rifle fire from beyond the courtyard gate vertically bisect AshX. A trigger spasm emptied the rest of the magazine of the boy's MP5SD6, and the corpse fell backwards. Kirito, now looking through his NVGs, had a sickening view of the head and torso coming apart down the middle, but he didn't have time to process it. XOak was already inside one of the other buildings, putting inaccurate fire onto the gate, whilst Asuna shimmied across the ground. No time to think. He lifted the P90, and fired.

The burst of 5.7x28mm blew the small window out, the glass cascading into the darkened courtyard, as the first man rushed through the gate, muzzle flashes erupting from the barrel of his AK-pattern rifle. The first burst had been rendered slightly less accurate by the glass, but the second burst was dead on target. He was already moving as a burst of return fire from one of the two other men impacted around the window. In seconds, he was in the shadows at the back door. The courtyard was lit by the strobe-light effect of a pecheneg being fired on full-auto at Asuna and XOak before the glare made the NVGs unusable; he lifted up the NVGs to see the last man with the AK charging him, backlit by the pecheneg's muzzle flash. He dived behind the door frame as the militiaman emptied the rest of his magazine in Kirito's direction; chunks were torn out of the doorframe, and one round struck the suppressor of his P90, wrenching it from his hands and causing it to bounce around on its sling. He cursed, and drew his blades. Less than a second later, the AK fire stopped, and he rounded the corner. Sure enough, he could see the militiaman reloading by the light of the muzzle flash, and charged the other man.

Time seemed to slow down. The militiaman, seeing Kirito charging him, let the AK drop on its sling, and reached for his sidearm. He was too slow; he had barely drawn his sidearm before Kirito had slid beneath his firing arc. The gun was halfway drawn and aimed nowhere near Kirito when the boy brought the first machete in an arc across the man's unarmoured torso, below the rim of the militiaman's chest rig and the full ammo pouches it bore. The second strike slashed across the militiaman's wrist. As the pistol (Kirito idly identified it as a Browning Hi-Power) tumbled from the militiaman's grasp, he struck again, springing up inside the militiaman's guard as he did so that the third machete strike bit deep through his neck.

The militiaman choked and gurgled as his neck opened, and fell backwards. Kirito was already rolling away into cover behind a stout stone bench as the last militiaman tried to bring his Pecheneg to bear on him, bullets smacking into the wall, but this was the distraction Asuna needed. Two bursts of 5.56mm round sent the gunner dropping to the ground. Kirito stowed his blades and drew his Fn5-7, aiming through the tritium iron sights at the courtyard's gate as he pulled his NVGs down again.

"That's it," Asuna called from her doorway as she reloaded. XOak was already staggering out into the open air, M4 hanging limply on its sling as he made a beeline for his brother.

"I only counted three," Kirito said across the tac-net. "Both of you, back into cover." These two players were definitely not soldiers. They were still in combat, after all. He stowed the 5-7 and reloaded his P90 before removing the suppressor, inspecting it briefly before tossing it away. That thing would be of no use to anyone, now.

"That was the squad we encountered outside the town," Asuna said. "I recognised the machine gunner. He had that funny hat. Remember, you killed that man with the long rifle back at the field."

Kirito looked back to her. She had removed her poncho's hood and was wearing a night vision monocle. The less-than-optimal quality of the NVGs feed made it difficult to accurately determine her features, but she was quite clearly staring at where XOak was knelt over his brother's shattered body, sobbing uncontrollably. Somewhere out there, in the real world, AshX's- no, _Harry's_ body was beginning to cool in the aftermath of a catastrophic microwave pulse delivered to his brain, irreparably damaging the neurons. Here, his vertically bisected body was leaking a slick pool of blood and offal across the floor. Kirito knew which death he would rather see, given the choice. Too bad that XOak had to see this.

Kirito hated this. He loved the game, the combat, the adrenaline; but this? A brother was mourning his sibling's violent and horrific death, in the middle of a battlefield. He had no time to mourn, lest he risk joining his brother in death. None of them had asked for this. None of them deserved it.

He hated that he couldn't just comfort the guy. Instinct and experience from the beta insisted that he get his two comrades into the second building and check the street outside, to make sure that there was no risk of a lone gunman. Pushing his disgust, anger and shock at Harry's death aside, he sprang into action.

"Get XOak inside," he ordered Asuna. "And take Harry's gear. He won't need it."

"Can't you give him a minute?" she shot back angrily, gesturing at where XOak was knelt in his brother's bodily fluids.

"There's no time," he said firmly. "We're in the middle of a warzone. We can't afford this." He scrambled up the wall, peeking out into the street. It was clear; Asuna was probably right. The loud reports of a BMP-2's 30mm 2A42 autocannon, firing HE shells, reverberated through the courtyard. He was striding over to Asuna when Reid called in over the tac-net.

"Kirito, what's your status? The two guys outside are dead, but the BMP's closing in on us. Koobus has his RPG ready, but I'd rather we fall back and regroup," the Englishman said, cold but calm as always. Just what was needed to drive the seriousness of the situation home to Asuna and the grieving XOak.

"AshX is dead," he said without hesitation, attempting to mirror Reid's cold but professional tone. There was something, a cold fear mixed with anger and hopelessness, wrapping itself around his will, his drive to survive, but he couldn't let it faze him. He had to survive, and he would bring the rest of the squad with him. Reid Collin's cold focus would help him achieve that.

"But we took out another squad," he continued. "The rest of the team of the guy we took out in the fields."

"Good job," Collins said. "But we need to move. The militia must have radioed in our location, and the BMP knows where we are. We're coming to you."

"Okay," he replied, and turned to Asuna. "Asuna, get him up and strip AshX of his gear. And make it quick, we need to leave." He didn't want to play the bad guy, but fawning over virtual bodies and breaking down in the middle of combat wouldn't help them. It hadn't improved their chances in the beta, when they had the comforting notion of respawning to carry them through particularly intense bouts of combat. Here, it could- no, _would_ \- be deadly.

"Just give him a moment!" Asuna replied, louder than he would have liked. That being said, any passing Militia squads would have trouble hearing them over the cacophony of gunfire in the surrounding streets.

"We don't have a moment, and keep your voice down," Kirito hissed. "We can't do anything for him, but we can keep XOak alive, and make sure that George doesn't loose another nephew." Asuna regarded him for a moment from under her hood. He couldn't read her, but after a moment she seemed to relent.

"Fine. What do we do now?"

"Try and stay one step ahead of the BMP, and if we can, take out with Koobus' RPG. Or damage it, at the very least," he replied. As he spoke, Collins came charging out of the building into the courtyard, rifle held high. Behind him was George, half-carrying Koobus.

"Aargh, fock!" Koobus shouted as George dropped him to the ground. "Shrapnel tore right through me fockin' leg!"

"Koobus-San, does it hurt?" Asuna asked.

"Fock, yeah it hurts! Focking Kayaba, man! He must have fiddled with the pain feedback!"

"The fuck?" Kirito wondered, as George stumbled over to AshX's virtual corpse, dropping to his knees and weeping alongside XOak. Collins strode over and pulled the boy away, before forcing him to his knees and turning to George.

"George, get up. That's not his real body. Kirito, we need full-circle security, that BMP's close. Koobus took some shrapnel from a HE round to his leg. Last we saw, it was coming around the block. We need to move."

"We need a plan," said Asuna. She, Kirito, Collins and George had formed a circle around AshX's body, weapons aimed outwards. XOak was relieving AshX of his equipment, weeping quietly, whilst Koobus applied dressing to his wound. Kirito caught a glimpse of it; the skin was ragged and went through to the bone, and was terrifyingly realistic in its rendering.

"Koobus is down, XOak is pretty much useless and we have an APC with with a 30mm cannon hunting us down. We have an RPG," said Collins.

"But Koobus is in no shape to fight," countered Asuna.

"Fock you! I can still fight!"

"Not on that leg," Kirito said. "You need a medic."

"He's right," George said, breathing heavily. The NVGs made it hard to see, but Kirito imagined that he could see the older man's hands- and the weapon they held- trembling. The older man continued. "You can't fight on that with that, Koobus. Your best bet is to hide."

"We can use the RPG," Kirito said, walking over to Koobus and kneeling beside him. "You won't even be able to aim it properly, unless you're willing to take one for the team."

"I… I don't particularly want that."

"I thought not. You give us the RPG. You, George and XOak will hide in one of the buildings-"

"Now, you wait just one moment," George exclaimed, but Kirito cut him off.

"We need you to keep those two safe, George," Collins said, not looking back at them. "Kirito, Asuna and myself will be more than up to the task, and besides. With your hands shaking the way they are, I think you need a time out."

"Those bastards killed my-"

"George-San, please," Asuna said. "You don't need to come with us. Just keep Koobus and your nephew safe."

"Look at XOak, George. Look at your nephew. He's not going to fight," said Collins. Indeed, XOak was knelt next to his brother, the M14 and MP5SD slung over his back, leaning on his M4 with the stock pressed into the patio, shoulders heaving as he sobbed and completely deaf to the world. "And Koobus can't move quickly; as far as fighting's concerned, he's been compromised. You need to stay with them."

"None of you kids are trained," George said.

"We're still alive. That has to count for something," Collins said, and looked over to Kirito. "And I'm pretty sure that Kirito is a beta tester." Everyone except for XOak looked at Kirito.

 _Shit_. How did he know?

Collins answered the unspoken question almost immediately. "Well, you didn't exactly hide it very well. I mean, no fourteen year-old knows how to move like you do in combat, and you've been helping us out the entire time we've been in the same squad. You couldn't have done that unless you already knew how to play this game. Don't worry. I'm not with that prat Kibaou or the goon squad. I'm just glad you're here. My point being," he turned to George, "We'll be fine. And this is where your part ends. We just need you to stay safe."

George sagged, a defeated and broken man. He picked up AshX's pack, holster and vest, helped Koobus up, holding the South African's arm across his shoulders. Koobus dumped the RPG and reloads on the ground.

"We can't stay 'ere," Koobus said. "They'll have our position."

"We'll stay with you until we get you to a decent lay-up," Kirito said, taking up the launcher and the pack containing three spare warheads. Collins watched him hoist the equipment up across his back.

"Sure you don't want any help with those?" he asked.

"I'm good," Kirito replied, though to be honest they didn't really suit his fast and aggressive play-style, nor his aptitude for stealth. Maybe Collins would be better suited to carrying the launcher and reloads, but with his HK416D the Englishman would be better able to provide security.

They exited the courtyard as quickly as possible, wary of more Militia patrols in the streets. They moved quickly, as they could hear the BMP moving closer, firing the cannon indiscriminately. The fighting was still going on in the rest of the town, but their area was empty except for themselves and the BMP, the foot soldiers having moved to engage the other players.

They made it into another building, going in by the rear door and silencing the NPCs with harsh looks and threatening postures. They dumped Koobus in an upstairs bedroom, leaving him with George and his near-catatonic nephew.

"Stay down, and only fire if you really have to," Kirito told George. The older man nodded and handed him the MP5SD6 and reclaimed ammo.

"Okay, son. Take this with you."

"It's okay, really."

"I'm serious. Your P90's suppressor's gone. You might need this one. Besides, I think we have more than enough guns between us."

"Sure," Kirito said, taking the weapon and assorted ammunition and joining Asuna and Collins.

"Good luck, kids," Koobus said. "Send those focking _doos'_ to hell."

"Will do, man. You guys stay safe," Collins replied as he, Kirito and Asuna exited the room and headed downstairs. They halted in the shadows of the doorway, scanning the street.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry that?" Collins said, indicating the RPG.

"I'm good. How do we handle this?" Kirito asked. "Three infantry against an angry APC seems to me like a recipe for disaster. I'm thinking we set up a kill zone."

"I don't have anything better," Collins said, shrugging. "Asuna?"

"I'm not entirely sure what a 'kill zone' is, but I'm guessing it's some sort of trap for the armoured vehicle?"

"Exactly," Kirito said. "If we cut and run then it will continue to harass the other teams. We only have one RPG, but if we use it and the reloads carefully we can at least damage it, make it easier for the other teams to pick off. Our best bet is to take out the turret, but if we can immobilise it too then it will be vulnerable."

"Who's going to bait it?" Collins asked.

"You and Asuna will," Kirito replied.

"I'm not sure about that," Collins said. "You're a lightweight. I'm guessing you're pretty fast, and that RPG and the reloads must slow you down."

"I've used RPGs before, during the beta," Kirito replied. "Quite often, in fact. Our guerrilla tactics relied on them quite heavily. I know what I'm doing with this, trust me."

"Okay, fine. Where do we set up our kill zone?"

"Over there," Kirito said, pointing down to where the street ended at a T-junction. "If I set myself in on the exterior stairway of that building, and you bait it to the T-junction, then I can hit it in the turret and hopefully disable its gun."

"You'll have to be pretty quick reloading that thing if you want to get more than one shot of," Collins said.

"Don't worry. I've had practice."

"Okay. If it helps, I have a few smoke grenades. It might help you buy time after the first shot. BMP-2s don't have thermal imaging, do they?"

"No, but they have infrared. Smoke should mess that up pretty handily."

"Okay then," Collins said, and checked the street. "No sense prolonging this. Kirito, mark your building on the map. We'll try and bring the BMP to you."

"Good luck. Try not to die," Kirito said, as Collins and Asuna rushed out into the street, moving in the direction of the HUD marker showing the BMP's current position.

"Always," the Englishman said as he and Asuna rushed off into the night. Kirito looked to the east. It was definitely getting lighter.

Reid

Asuna and I hurry through the streets, vigilant for any more militia, but it seems that they have either headed out to engage the other players in other areas of the town or are already dead. The BMP is not far away, and appears to be hunting the other teams. It seems that we need to provide a juicier target.

We hide in the darkness of a back alley, watching the street. "How do we get its attention?" she asks. I consider this question.

"Well, we could jump up and down in front of it. Or try shooting the rear ramp. It probably has thinner armour, and I read something about fuel being stored there during transport. They might not have had time to remove it."

"You know a lot about this stuff, don't you," she says. I can see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye. I shrug.

"A bit, yeah. Okay, scratch that. I am a _colossal_ nerd about this stuff. It's just the way I'm wired, I guess."

"It's okay. If anything, it probably gives us an advantage."

"Hm." I pause, bringing up the area map. The BMP is only a block away. The streets aren't laid out in an orderly grid like many American towns, but is more of a close sprawl, like an Italian or Spanish village. If we can get the APC's attention, we might be able to stay one step ahead. "Okay, here's my plan. We move up behind it and empty our magazines into it, and hope that we get its attention. If we do, we run back towards Kirito. If it gets too close, then we go through the buildings and try to lose it, but one person needs to be in sight of it at all time. Have some spare magazines to hand, it should make reloading easier. Can you sprint?" She nods in response. "Okay. I would suggest we run in relay, but two targets are better than one, in this case. Only a 50-50 chance of being hit, so the likelihood that we can bait it back to the kill zone is higher. And besides, we need to give it a juicy target."

"Collins-San. Are you okay?" she asks. I turn to her. For the first time, her hood is down and can see most of her head except for her eyes, which are obscured by her own NVGs. What a bloody strange thing to ask.

"I'm fine. What made you say that?"

"Because since I've joined this squad, I haven't once heard you emote. You always talk quickly and quietly, even with the translation software you're hard to hear. The only times you aren't emoting are when you are mocking or scorning something or someone."

"When did I do that?" I ask. This girl is beginning to agitate me.

"Off the top of my head? When you were telling George-San to leave AshX's body behind."

"Haven't you ever heard of tough love?" I ask her. She cocks her head at me.

"Aren't you scared?" she asks me. I turn away.

Well, yes. I suppose I am. Who wouldn't be? I'm in a fight for my life and my liberty against a numerically superior force with light armour support, and I'm about to act as bait for said armour. Of course I'm scared. The trick is to use it to stay alive, to the point that you forget it all.

"Collins-San?" she prompts.

"Of course I am," I say. No shame in admitting it. "I've been scared since day one, but I can't let it stop me. Not now."

"It doesn't mean that you should bury everything else."

"No distractions," I say. I almost believe it myself. Almost. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. No choice. Right?"

"Right." I lead the way out into the street, watching for stray Militia. We reach the next corner to see the BMP. It is firing at something down the street, HE rounds taking chunks out of the buildings and the detonations lighting up the street. I lift my rifle, aiming through the ELCAN at the rear doors. I hold a second magazine with my left hand, clamping it to the handguard.

"Are you sure this will work?" Asuna asks me. I pause. Truth or lie? No contest.

"Nope," I say, and fire.

I empty the entire magazine at the BMP's rear hatch, hoping that Kayaba and his team were meticulous in their world-building. The door starts leaking flame as I switch magazines. Asuna raises her own rifle, but the BMP starts to reverse, the turret swinging round.

"Oh, shit," breathes Asuna. It's the first time I've really seen her loose her composure.

"Yeah," I say. "Start running."

We turn and run, making it ten metres before the street corner disintegrates in four consecutive blasts of flame and masonry. The growl of the BMP's engines grow louder. I lead Asuna down the street, keeping to the shadows, hoping the armoured vehicle's IR imaging scopes will miss us but knowing that they probably won't. Murphy's law, and all that. We make it another 20, running flat out, before the BMP rounds the corner. Lucky for us the commander of the vehicle obviously doesn't tell the driver to stop in time, because it ploughs into a shop front, lodging itself there for a few seconds before lurching forwards, prompting the collapse of the front of the building. Asuna has stopped to watch, but I grab her arm and drag her along behind me until she finds her feet. We stop at the next corner; I take up position on the opposite side of the road, whilst she takes the corner. I fire one burst, change position, and fire several more, whilst Asuna empties half of her magazine at the BMP. That does the trick. We start running as it awkwardly turns and starts hurtling down the street towards us. We take up positions, wait until it rounds the corner and fire again. Rinse, repeat, and hopefully victory.

We repeat the process until we finally reach the kill zone. Our target is the front door of the building in which Kirito lies in wait. After we left, he should have opened the rear entrance, allowing us clean passage to the other side and therefore an escape route. As we near the kill zone, I contact him over the tac-net.

"Kirito, the BMP is hot on our heels. Are you ready?" I say, as I prep a smoke grenade, ready to buy the Japanese teen a few seconds.

"Yeah," he replies. "Get inside."

"On it," I say. We reach the doorway as the BMP comes within sight of us. The turret begins to turn our way. Asuna fires off a couple of rounds, just to make sure we have its attention, and retreats through the house, calling "Good luck" as she goes. The BMP moves closer- enough for me to stare down the barrel of the 30mm cannon. Kirito's cutting it close.

"Any time now, Kirito," I say over the tac-net. The cannon adjusts, and at this point I know I'm about to die.

Well, shit.

A streak of light lances down onto the BMP, striking the turret. The vehicle halts, and I activate and toss the smoke grenade. It lands in front of the vehicle, obscuring the viewports and IR imaging equipment. I turn and run as several HE rounds slam into the front of the building, knocking me down. Several seconds later there is another _whoosh_ followed by a detonation, and no more cannon fire follows. Another warhead is fired, followed by a titanic detonation that shakes the house to its foundations. Cracks begin to form in the walls, perfectly rendered.

"Oh, shit."

I need an exit. A series of pops and cracks dissuades me from going out the front- the ammo in the APC is cooking off, and I don't want to go that way. I start to scramble for the back door as chunks of plaster and brick begin to fall around me. A brick hits me across the shoulders, forcing me down. I keep crawling, trying to clamber to my feet under the deluge but am knocked down again by a chunk of plaster breaking over my helmet. The entire building begins to buckle- apparently the people of Orinora are poor builders- and I try to get out. Someone grabs my arm and drags me forward, and we break out into the open air, stumbling forward for a few metres before collapsing to the ground as behind us the building sags inward. It doesn't collapse completely, but is clearly structurally unstable. I definitely wouldn't want to be trapped in there.

I stand up, groaning, and remove my helmet. The crumpled house is silhouetted by the burning BMP, embers rising into the air. Beside me, Asuna sits up, lifting her NVGs from her eyes. I can see that she is already a beautiful girl and will likely grow into a fine woman. I offer her my hand.

"Thanks," she says as I help her up.

"It's the least I can do. I think I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything, Collins-San," she says, breathing heavily. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't help?"

"Point," I say. "Point taken," I explain, in response to Asuna's confused expression. Fucking translation software.

"You guys okay?" Kirito calls, as he comes around the corner of the house, lugging the RPG and the empty bag.

"Yeah. All good," I call. Kirito comes over, watching the house and the flames leaping into the sky behind it. His NVGs are raised, and I can see him smiling.

"That. Now that was something," he says, pointing.

"Did it really take three shots to kill it?" I ask him, as he stands next to Asuna.

"Just making sure," Kirito says. "I saw too many of these things take glancing hits and then start firing again in the beta. Back then, it just meant that we had to respawn. Here, it could be fatal."

"Koobus-San will be annoyed that you used most of the rockets for that thing," Asuna says.

"He'll just have to deal with it," I say, and contact George over the tac-net. "George, the BMP's down. How's Koobus?"

"Still alive," George replies. "He's stable. What about you kids?"

"We're good. Thanks for asking."

"I've been listening in on the tac-net. Most of the resistance has been mopped up. Seems like the stealth assault worked," George says. "Good news for us, I think." We smile at each other at this. I can't speak for the others, but I feel drained.

"Yeah. It is," Kirito says. "Hang tight, George, we're coming back to you."

"Got it."

We head back to the others, still weary of remaining Militia, as Kirito checks in with the command team. He signs off, and gives us an overview.

"Fifteen deaths on our side in total, with six of those being Diabel and some of his followers," says Kirito.

"The goon squad, you mean," I say.

"The what?"

"The goon squad. A bunch of hooligans, basically. Henchmen, and a bit of a mob. Goons. Not to be confused with the old band of comedians."

"Goon squad." Kirito seems to ponder the name for a moment. "I like it. So, yeah, Diabel and five of the goon squad. The rest were just unlucky."

"Like AshX," Asuna says.

"Yeah. Like Harry. There's just one more holdout of Militia in the church, but they've brought in the Tigr with the AGL to deal with those."

"Won't the local NPCs be pissed if we blow up their church piecemeal?" I ask.

"Probably, but from what I heard, Amir just got fed up and overruled Harvard. Doesn't want to risk any more casualties on our side, and the AT threat has been eliminated, so he gave the order to move in. Besides, there are no NPCs in the church, and it's likely that the church is just for show anyway." He shrugs. "At least, that was how it was in the beta." The implication that things have changed since then is left unsaid. He shook his head and continued. "The rest of the Militia are either dead, or have surrendered. These guys seem to have issues with morale. As for the helicopters and the ground vehicles, all but one Tigr was destroyed. The trucks, second BMP and the helicopters were retrieved intact."

"Sounds like a victory," I say.

"It doesn't feel like it," says Asuna, sounding despondent, likely due to AshX's- Harry's- death. I understand. I wish I had gotten to know the boy better. He was never anything more than a bystander to me; he and his brother kept to themselves. I'll never have the opportunity now. Asuna is right. This victory feels hollow. Not quite Pyrrhic, and certainly not Cadmean, but still, a bit of a kick to the ego.

"Better to get used to it," I say. "This is just the first milestone. Things will definitely get a hell of a lot worse before they get better."

"Collins is right," Kirito says. "There are still so many ways that we can screw this up."

"Murphy's law," says Asuna.

"Yeah."

"It's Reid, by the way," I say. Kirito and Asuna turn to stare at me. Understandable; as I understand it, in Japan family names are the preferred mode of address. Personal names are mainly used by close acquaintances. But honestly? That just sounds tiresome, and bonds formed in combat are supposedly some of the strongest out there. We just took out an APC together. I think that makes us friends, of a sort.

"I'm sorry, Collins-San?" Asuna asks, appearing to be taken aback.

"My name is Reid."

"But that's your-"

"First name, yeah. But I'm not Japanese, and it feels awkward being called by my family name. I'd be honoured to call you my friends, and in England, friends use their first names. Usually. Is that okay with you guys?"

Kirito is silent for a moment, and then nods. "Yeah. That's okay, Reid."

"It's a nice name," Asuna says, nodding, and managing to look like a teenager rather than a fighter. She smirks, and looks over at Kirito. "I'm not so sure about 'Kirito'. What even is that?"

Kirito looks taken aback, though more by Asuna's polite front dropping in favour of an unashamed, normal girl with a sense of humour. He smiles.

"Just a contraction of my IRL name," he says, shrugging. "It doesn't mean anything. Anyway," he turns to me, "What does Reid mean?"

"No idea," I say. "Never really thought about it. Don't read too much into it." I check my timer: 0517. The whole engagement took less than twenty minutes. Over in the east, the horizon has begun to brighten visibly.

It's been a weird morning.


	6. Chapter 6

_SAO isn't mine. The OCs are. I hope you are well, that you enjoy reading this, and that you have a good day. Feedback is appreciated._

Chapter 6

Kirito

The town square was packed. Between the remaining players, the captive Militia held to one side, and the assorted vehicles, there wasn't much room. The Hilux once again played host to the commanders- except now it was just an angry-looking Amir and a tired-looking Harvard. Kirito's squad was stood to one side, minus Koobus, who was being attended to by one of the medics with the other wounded.

Morning had come, revealing the extent of the damage to Orinora. It had been less than Kirito had been expecting. For one thing, less than five buildings had been destroyed, including the church and the building destroyed during the death of the BMP. There were still a few fires, though, and the early morning sky was marred by rising columns of smoke, prominent against the blue of the sky. A blue light glinted atop the communications relay tower on the top of the hill on the eastern side of the valley. It was official: Orinora was now under player control.

Harvard was busy giving a congratulatory speech to the assembled players, most of whom were still riding the adrenaline high, and consequently were in high spirits, but none of the squad seemed to be focused solely on Harvard. George was stood at attention, his posture ramrod-straight and staring straight ahead, his face so unmoving it might have been carved from granite. It was clear, though, that despite his posture he was not focused on Harvard's words. Collins was also stood at attention, but he seemed slightly vacant at first, until his face became a guarded mask. Kirito could see his eyes flick across the square, and occasionally to George. At one point, it looked as if he was about to talk to the older man, but then thought better of it.

Asuna was stood a few feet away, but remained close to the squad. Her hood was down and her night vision equipment was stowed, and he could finally see her face clearly. It was slightly embarrassing to admit, but she was one of the most beautiful girls that he had ever seen. Not even her morose expression could change that, though it did lead back to the hollow feeling in his chest left by the death of AshX. XOak was sat down against the wall a few metres away, head in his hands. No one begrudged him his right to bereavement. Asuna had tried comforting the boy earlier, but he had been borderline catatonic, not even responding to her efforts to hug him.

They had taken Orinora with minimal casualties, and claimed vital war materiel in the process. They had crossed the first hurdle in the war to take back their liberty and return to the real world. He was still alive. And yet, he had never felt worse. He thought back to how Collins had described the feeling, before they had gathered in the square.

"Feels pretty bloody pyrrhic, if you ask me."

That was what it was: a pyrrhic victory, achieved at cost. In this case, the cost was the lives of a number of players. Even the loss of some of Kibaou's goons hurt; after all, despite their differences, they were all on the same side. He had caught a glimpse of Kibaou and his men as they trudged into the square; they had looked defeated, but also angry. Kibaou in particular looked set to lash out. Things could turn ugly; in the absence of a viable target, he may well set his sights on the beta testers again.

He turned his attention back to Harvard where he stood in the bed of the pickup. The American had actually directly participated in the attack, taking control when Diabel was killed and things turned loud. Amir had continued to lead from the rear, integrating contact reports and troop movements into a coherent battle plan, directing units in response to enemy troop movements and directing their snipers and machine gunners to provide support. Kirito wasn't surprised at Amir's efficiency and tactical and strategic skill; after all, he had been instrumental during the beta at devising battle plans that secured victory with minimal casualties, and was responsible for numerous high profile victories. His first major victory during the beta had been Orinora, after numerous ill-fated attempts to take the town by a number of smaller, relatively uncoordinated groups of players. Amir's knowledge of strategy and tactics had carried the day, and he had done a good job this time around, too. Despite their losses, things could have been much worse.

"… promise you, their sacrifices will not be in vain," Harvard was saying. "This is the first milestone to victory. With these captured vehicles and weapons, the next battle will go smoother, and the next after that. This is the day that we win back our liberty."

Kirito had to admit, the handsome American had a flair for performance and the charisma to back it up, in addition to a keen tactical mind and skill in combat. Kirito had no idea who Harvard was in the real world, but so long as he kept this up and had no hidden drawbacks, he would make an ideal leader, even if he didn't have the experience of a of beta tester.

"Amir and I have been talking it over along with some of the squad leaders. We're planning on scouting out the area directly east of here and hitting their supply routes, so that we can isolate and eliminate their outpost between here and the next major settlement."

"Shut the fuck up!" everyone turned to Kibaou, who had thrown his rifle to the ground and was pointing angrily at Harvard and Amir. Kirito shook his head; out of the corner of his eye he could see Collins frown and roll his eyes.

"For fuck's sake," Kirito muttered. Leave it to the amped-up hedgehog to derail things. Up on the Hilux, Harvard was massaging his forehead after a not-so-subtle face palm. He sighed, and addressed Kibaou directly.

"Kibaou, I know you're upset, but there's no need for that sort of language. Was there something you wanted to say?"

"You! You're standing up there like nothing happened! _We lost Diabel!_ "

"Just calm down, man!" Agil shouted from the edge of the crowd. As Kirito understood it, Agil had accounted for four enemy soldiers and a Tigr during the fighting, and had the respect of most of the players present.

"Fuck you! Diabel is DEAD!" Kibaou roared, the remaining goon squad members backing him up. "And it's 'cause of the fucking beta testers!"

"Oh, _really_. And how do you figure that?" asked Harvard. He no longer seemed exasperated, and instead was staring down at Kibaou coldly. His body language radiate condescension, as did his tone of voice.

"If they'd been here helping us, instead of fucking off to wherever-"

"Listen here, you little shit," Amir started, surging forwards, but Harvard held him back.

"Calm down, Amir. Let's listen to what our… esteemed comrade has to say."

Kirito grinned. Harvard wasn't just a charismatic leader; he was also a shrewd operator. Letting Kibaou vent his anger now would likely discredit him and his goons, and embarrass him in front of the gathered players. Said players were currently the most accomplished group of prospective soldiers in the game, and would doubtless hold influence over whatever power structures might emerge in the future. If Kibaou discredited himself now, he wouldn't find any allies any time soon, and a destabilising element would be removed.

"The beta testers weren't here to help us," Kibaou began, puffing up his chest like a bird of paradise. "They left us to fend for ourselves, and we lost good men. Men like Diabel. Those bastards have months of experience on the rest of us, but did they show up? No! They left us, probably to find juicier pickings elsewhere."

"What are you talking about, man?" asked one of the players from the Canadian/North American squad.

"If they were here, we could have stormed this place and not loose a single man!" Kibaou shouted. "But they abandoned us, and look what happened!"

"Kibaou, look. We know you lost friends, and we know you and your boys are upset," Harvard said. "But we can't let baseless prejudice divide us. We must remain united if we are to have any hope of getting out of this alive. I assure you, there _are_ beta testers present among us. They have as much reason to fight as you-"

"You're one of them, aren't you?" Kibaou cut in. "I knew you were too good to be true! You're too charismatic and good at fighting; who are you, really?"

"Mother fu… I was in Law Enforcement, you idiot," Harvard said. "Just calm the hell down."

"Fuck you! And you, Amir, you're one too!"

"Yes," Amir growled. Kirito had never seen anyone so angry. It was a cold, calculating anger, evident from Amir's unnatural stillness. "I am a beta tester. And I helped plan the attack and coordinate our forces during the assault. If I hadn't done that, I can assure you there would be a lot more bodies than Diabel and his boys and the few poor saps unlucky enough to get slotted."

"You-"

"And- and I really hope you're already aware of this- _no plan survives contact with the enemy_. We're in the middle of a war, of course people are going to die, you FUCKING LUNATIC."

Kibaou was frozen by the spite in Amir's voice, and took several steps back, but his boys were there to support him. Whatever else they might have been, they were loyal to their leader.

"You lost men to the BMP, didn't you?"

Kirito turned to stare at Collins, as did most of the others present. Kibaou scowled at the Englishman.

"Yeah, what of it, bitch?"

"It was a beta tester that drew the BMP away from the main engagement, and it was a beta tester that killed it," Collins said. His voice was flat and cold, his expression neutral, but somehow a note of disdain crept into his words. Despite being more or less the same height as Kibaou, he still seemed to be looking down his nose at the other man. "The beta testers are helping us, because they have all the reasons in the world to. We need to cooperate if we're going to escape, and I can assure you, _they already know this_. Evidently, you don't, so please. Cease your whingey bullshit, remove your head from your arse and get with the _fucking_ _program_ , or else get the fuck back to the Starting City, you pathetic fucking weasel." Kibaou looked like he was about to reply, but Collins cut him off, taking several steps towards Kibaou. "We know you lost friends, but guess what: so did the rest of us, and we haven't devolved into a pack of squabbling children. Control yourself." Collins looked past Kibaou to where the goons were stood, bristling as their leader was given a verbal dressing down by a teenager. "And tell your boys to chill, they look like they're about to shit themselves."

"Who the fuck even are you?" Kibaou said, taking a step back. Collins shrugged.

"Someone who doesn't have time for your bullshit, Shadow the Edge Hog," Collins said, almost sneering. Then he seemed to soften, the change in tone and body language jarring. "No one is blaming you for this. You lost friends. Two of my squadmates lost family. It hurts, I know, but you need to keep it together, Kibaou. Just back down, and no one will remember this. Then we can get back to work."

"You're one of them, aren't you?" Kibaou said. Collins sighed.

"Obviously you're not listening. Look, the beta testers are here and they're doing their part-"

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like _killing BMPs_ ," Collins insisted. "They are not the enemy, and this isn't the sort of game where you need an advantage over other players. They had months to play this game, I'm sure they already know that." Collins was frowning now, and the conciliatory tone was gone from his voice.

"And who killed the tank, then?" asked Kibaou.

"I did," said Kirito. Kibaou and the goons advanced on him immediately.

"You let our friends die," said Kibaou.

"No he didn't," said Asuna, stepping in to back up Kirito and Collins. "We were nowhere near the infiltration team. He's the one he killed the BMP, so he could stop it from hurting anyone else."

"Yes. He's a good soldier," George said, stepping in. "Please calm down, young man. Your behaviour is embarrassing, and won't help discipline in this little war band. We're in this together."

"Fockin' right! Koobus called from where he lay with the other wounded.

"Who the fuck are you, _Old Man_?" Kibaou sneered, ignoring Koobus.

"A man who just lost his nephew, after he had vowed to keep him safe," George said, with a sense of Gravitas that no one else present could seem to manage. "This isn't a game anymore, young man. We can't afford to let petty jealousy and hate divide us. We need to be a coherent unit, an army. Just back down, and we'll forget all about this." His voice seemed to soften. "I know how you feel, son. We're here for you."

Kibaou looked around. With the exception of the goon squad, there were no friendly faces. He stepped back, and seemed as if he was about to back down for good. Kirto began to relax, his shoulders falling- he hadn't realised he had squared them in the first place. And then XOak spoke.

"Kibaou's right."

Kirito frowned and turned to see the young New Zealander standing. His shoulders were raised and he was glaring at Kirito.

"XOak?" Kirito said. What was he doing?

"Max?" said George, confused.

"Because of him," XOak was pointing at Kirito now, "Harry's dead. He could have helped, back in the courtyard, but he didn't." he seemed to be crying now, his face contorting, though there were no tears- Kayaba had neglected to include programming for tears, it appeared. He continued, "He was too busy killing the militia; he didn't even care about Harry."

Kirito's stomach dropped. "XOak- no, Max. That isn't true."

"'We're in the middle of a warzone; we can't afford this.' That's what you said. You didn't even stop to help him, you just wanted to strip the body. You're a fucking beta tester-"

"Max, son, _please_ ," George started, but XOak kept on talking, ignoring his uncle.

"You're a fucking beta tester and you treated him like fucking garbage!" XOak cried, pointing angrily at Kirito. He felt himself go cold; was XOak right? He had only done what he thought he had needed to do, but… had he really been so heartless?

"XOak. Max. Come on, mate, just calm down," Collins said, but only succeeded in drawing XOak's ire.

"You're no better, you fucking sociopath!" the younger teen shouted. "All you could think about was stripping his gear and leaving him behind!"

"Because that wasn't his real body and the BMP would have killed us if we stayed," Collins said, showing more patience than he had with Kibaou and even a small amount of compassion in an attempt to calm the teen. It didn't work; XOak was too distraught. Kirito realised that every player present was staring at them. Amir in particular seemed to recognise Kirito, if the subtle nod he directed at him was anything to go by.

"Max-kun, I know how you feel," Asuna said, moving towards the younger boy. "But they were right, we couldn't have stayed. Kirito-kun is not the enemy. Without him, I suspect more would have died." She tried to put her hand on his arm in an effort to reassure him, but XOak shrugged her off.

"Fuck him! And fuck you all! And especially, fuck _you_ , Collins!" XOak shouted. Collins looked slightly affronted, and vaguely confused.

"Uh, okay?" Collins said. This just made XOak even angrier.

"You're so fucking focused on the job, you don't even care about your squad mates! Where were you when Harry died?"

"Covering George and Koobus," Collins said, emotionless.

"Max, son. Collins was right; that wasn't Harry's body, and we needed to move out of there," said George. "Please, just calm down, we'll talk about this."

"Don't tell me to calm down, uncle!"

"Guys, guys, guys! Now is not the time!" shouted Harvard. "Kid, your old man's right, and so is Collins. Your friend's body is in the real world, and that's what we're aiming for here. Now, can we get back to the debriefing? Please?"

"We aren't finished here!" shouted Kibaou. Kirito sighed, shaking his head. He'd had enough of this, and he had some things he needed to work through. The more he pondered XOak's words, the more it seemed like the younger boy might have a point. He had been too cold, too ruthless, even if it had been necessary. But this was a war. Sentimentality was not something that he could afford. Collins appeared to have already accepted that reality; Kirito felt that he should do the same.

"This fucking beta tester left that kid to die," Kibaou continued. "And we're supposed to trust these assholes?"

"The kid was already dead before he hit the floor," Collins said. "There was no way to help him. Seriously."

"That's a lie," XOak said, sobbing.

"Max, we all saw Harry's body," George said, putting his hands on his nephew's body. "There was nothing we could have done."

"That's enough. Kibaou, you and your men need to fall in line," said Harvard, jumping down from the Hilux and striding towards them, but Kirito barely heard him. He didn't want to become a heartless soldier, but that might be what it took to get through the coming war and return home. He looked at Collins; he looked impassive, if slightly irritated. He was probably only a few years older than Kirito, but he had held up well, never faltering during last night's combat. A more emotional person would be unlikely to have made it out of the battle in one piece. That was the difference between Collins and Harvard, and Kibaou and his squad. Harvard had remained cool under fire, carrying the war band to victory, whilst Collins had been calm enough to lead them away from the BMP and then bait the armoured vehicle into their kill zone, never panicking as others might have done. Kibaou and his men had floundered as soon as they took casualties; in contrast, Harvard had held the rest of the war band together after their initial losses, whilst Collins had barely paused at the sight of AshX's body, instead urging the squad onwards and likely saving their lives in the process. Collins might be a cold and slightly spiteful person, if his comments were anything to go by, but he stood a better chance of surviving than Kibaou.

Kibaou was confronting Harvard directly now, whilst George and Asuna were attempting to calm XOak down. Collins was staring disdainfully at Kibaou's goons, as if daring them to make a move. Other players were getting involved; Agil was stepping between Kibaou and Harvard, attempting to placate Kibaou. Kirito sighed, and started walking. He made it out of the square without incident, and headed west. The east-bound road would take him up over the edge of the valley, and from there he could head east. He would hit the smaller outpost, and begin to gather intelligence. Enemy supply and patrol routes would be of particular interest. It had become apparent early on during the beta that the enemy fortifications relied heavily on their supply chains; hit those and capture their supply depots, and the entire region would quickly fall.

The NPCs were out and about, going about their business, assessing the damage to their dwellings. Most ignored him, though he caught glimpses of them looking at him out of the corner of their eyes. The remainder watched him warily, swerving out of his path. He supressed a shudder; they had not been like this during the beta. Back then, they had acted like any other video game NPC. Convincingly scripted, maybe, but a far cry from lifelike. He had begun to notice it on day two, but these NPCs acted- and reacted- like real people might.

After a few minutes of walking he reached the fields on the eastern side of the valley. There were a few bodies scattered around a barricade set up across the road, in addition to a burnt-out Tigr and a bullet-ridden UAZ-469 SUV. He checked inside; there was one body, and the controls were destroyed. It was useless now. He checked in the back and found an open weapons locker containing a number of rifles and a couple of SMGs. He took one of the assault rifles, an AK105 carbine chambered for 5.45x39mm with a railed receiver and PBS-1 supressor attached to the muzzle. He preferred his compact P90, but it lacked range, and AK74-pattern weapons were common in the hands of the Militia, so ammunition wouldn't be an issue. He took a number of magazines, and then looked around at the corpses of the Militia; one was clutching a G3 with an attached short-ranged combat scope. Presumably the dead Milita soldier had been his squad's marksman. He removed the scope from the weapon and attached it to his AK105. He looked around; the fields were quiet, the crops stirring in the breeze. He looked east; there was a hamlet an hour's walk away with only a single squad guarding it- in the beta, at least. Back then, the hamlet had been used as a base of operations be a small team of skilled beta testers, himself included, who had used it to launch raids on enemy supply convoys. If he cleared it out now, it might serve that purpose again. He slung his P90 and took the AK105 in his hands, making ready to leave Orinora for good.

"Kirito-kun!"

He turned back to Orinora, to see Asuna jogging along the road towards him. Following a metre behind her to her left was Collins. They came to a halt a few metres away. Collins still looked like a statue for all the emotion he showed, but Asuna actually looked concerned.

"I was about to head east," he said. "There's a hamlet not too far from here that made a good hold out during the beta. Harvard was right, we need to start hitting their supply lines. The Copellian military really does march on its belly, especially the Militia."

"You're leaving us behind?" Asuna asked. "After everything we went through?"

"'Everything we went through' was one battle and less than a day of observation," Kirito said, sighing. "I can't stay with you. Those guys… XOak… look, I have some stuff I need to work through, and I can't look George in the eye right now. I know Kibaou was shit-talking, but XOak… he had a point. If I had been a few seconds faster, I could have saved AshX. But I didn't." he shrugged, and looked eastward. "That's on me."

"And?" said Collins. Kirito stared at him.

"What do you mean, 'and'?"

"You weren't quick enough. That's life. You saved Asuna and XOak, and you killed the BMP, saving a bunch of other people. This is a war, and people are going to die. You can't be responsible for every single one, and we can't have you freaking out over everybody you don't save." Collins smiled. It actually seemed genuine. "Kibaou doesn't know what he's talking about. You did great last night."

"Yeah," agreed Asuna. "AshX wasn't on you. It wasn't your fault, no matter what Kibaou said. And XOak… he'd just lost his brother. I don't think he meant any of it."

"Yeah… you can't let them get to you," said Collins, stepping forward. "You're a beta tester, yeah. But more than that, you're a good fighter… a soldier. Kibaou couldn't recognise one of those if they were beating him to death with his own ego."

Kirito laughed. "I suppose… you might have a point. Is he still ranting back there?"

"Kibaou and the goon squad were about to storm off when we left to find you," Asuna said, chuckling slightly. "He'd started calling you a… what was it?" she asked, turning to Collins.

"A 'Beater,'" said Collins, smirking. "A portmanteau of 'beta tester' and 'cheater'. That's not what comes to mind when I hear 'beater', though. I thought he was talking about people that beat bushes to flush out pheasants for hunters. Koobus thought he was talking about masturbation." He chuckled. "In England, we call those 'wankers'."

"Like Kibaou," Asuna said, laughing.

"Now, now," Collins said jokingly, "The poor man lost his friends earlier. I know he's acting like an arsehole, but that'll be the grief talking. All those emotions…. anger… sadness… the rage that accompanies possessing slightly inadequate sexual organs…"

Kirito couldn't help it. Maybe it was the maelstrom of post-combat emotions, but he couldn't help but laugh with the other two teens. After a minute, the laughter died down, but the smiles remained.

"Look, guys… thanks. But I really do need to leave. I need to get myself together, and I can't do that surrounded by all those people. Plus, I work better on my own, I guess."

"I get that," Collins said. "But if you ever change your mind… well, you have our contact info, right?"

"Yeah," Kirito said. "But even so, I'm leaving the squad, at least for now. I like to travel light. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Asuna said. "And if you ever need help…"

"I'll call you guys first," Kirito said, and bowed. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Truly."

"Likewise, Kirito-kun," Asuna said.

"Yeah," Collins said, stepping in close. "I hope we meet again, Kirito." He extended his hand. After a moment, Kirito took it, and they shook. Collins' grip was firm and reassuring. Hand shakes weren't common in Japan, but he didn't mind. He let his hand fall, and turned away. After a few steps he stopped and turned back.

"Listen to Amir," he said. "He was in the beta, and was one of out best commanders and strategists. If anyone knows what to do, it'll be him." He turned back around.

"Thanks, we will," said Collins.

"Good luck, Kirito-kun," Asuna said. Kirito didn't turn around. It was suddenly hard to look his comrades in the eyes; he had always hated farewells.

"Okay," he said, and started walking. He didn't know when he would stop.

The two young soldiers watched their friend walk away. They stayed like that until was lost from view behind the trees on the hillside.

"So," Asuna finally said. Collins looked at her.

"Yeah?"

"What do we do now?"

Collins looked south, along the bottom of the valley towards the rising sun. This was the beginning of their war, he could tell. He was scared: he had no idea what to do. It was like the start of writing an essay, he supposed. It seems daunting and expansive when you start, almost like there's too much to do. But all good essays follow a decent plan.

"I'm honestly not sure. But I think we need to plan our next move. It seemed like Amir and Harvard had their heads on straight, and if Kirito is right about Amir…"

"They said they wanted to speak to us," Asuna said. "They seemed impressed with how we handled the tank."

"It wasn't a tank," Collins said. "It was an APC. There's a difference."

"Does it matter?"

"It could, one day." He shook his head. "You can go back to others. I need to stay out here for a while."

Asuna's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why? You aren't thinking of leaving too?"

"Kirito has the right idea, I think," he said, his shoulders sagging. "We need to scout out the area east of here. It'll make things easier for the main force." He looked at her directly. "And I… well, let's just say I've never been great in crowds. I've been to London a few times, always hated it. Way too many people, too much noise." He sighed. "It's the same here, except with more guns. And to be honest, I can't look Goerge in the eyes either. What I said to him was cruel. Necessary, but cruel. And don't get me started on XOak, for that matter."

"When did you get so…"

"Soft?"

"I was going to say compassionate," she said. "Okay. It's your choice. What do you want me to tell the others?"

"Just tell that I had to leave," he said. "I just… I need to keep moving. It feels like I can't stay still. I don't know why. I'll keep in touch, though. No point doing recon if I don't share the intel. I'll probably be back in a day… two days, maybe. A week, tops."

Asuna nodded. "That's okay. Good luck, Collins-san."

"Thanks. You too." He held out his hand, and they shook. Asuna smiled, backed off, and bowed formally. Collins chuckled at this. "You know, in England, that'd be kind of weird. But I don't mind. The world could use more courtesy, if you ask me." He smiled once more, and then turned away, following Kirito east, leaving Asuna alone on the road. She sighed, and headed back into town. Typical of boys to leave her to clean up the mess.

Ronan

 _Crack_.

"Good hit. Second target is… seven metres to the right, third window from the left. Fire when ready."

 _Crack._

"Good hit. Scanning."

The fight to take Fort Sienna is in its last stages. Most of the base is under our control, although the communications relay will only be under our control once the enemy has been completely defeated. Beside me, HotChipotle spots for one of the other Marines, a sniper armed with a Remington M24. The Militia have been pushed back into the cluster of buildings in the western corner of the compound, leaving the rest to us. All we need to do is take the buildings without destroying any of the valuable equipment in the base.

"How are you boys doing?" I ask, as I lower myself to the ground next to them. I hold a FAL in my hands, retrieved from the arms of a dead Militia soldier. The receiver has an aftermarket rail add-on that bears an ACOG. My SIG lies slung across my back, ready for when I need it in close quarters.

"Not too bad, all things considered," replies HotChipotle. "Target marked, western-most building, in the doorway. Fire when ready." _Crack_. "Negative impact. He's keeping his head down, though."

"Klein's boys and Norse Company are preparing to go in. Mongoose has the eastern approach locked down and are finishing off that last patrol that tried to play QRF, Anubis are on overwatch, and the rest of Paramour's gearing up to go in with Klein and Norse," I tell them, as two of our newest members, Argo and Snake, slide into our hollow. I nod to them in greeting, and turn back to HotChipotle. "Time to pack up that rifle. We're going in."

"Finally," The other Marine says, and engages his sniper rifle's safety. I turn to the newcomers.

"Argo, Snake. What have you got for us?"

"Nothing new," says Argo. "Except for another squad. They call themselves Youkai's Breath, want to give us a hand."

"Better late than never," Snake says. The two latest additions to Paramour's roster are both beta testers, one with actual real-world combat experience, who linked up with us last night before we were scheduled to attack Fort Sienna. They convinced us to hold position long enough for the duo to recon the enemy base. When they returned, they had a wealth of intel for us, and we altered our plan accordingly. Now, the majority of the Militia garrison is dead, almost sixty men, compared to our meagre loss of only five players.

Argo is a Japanese player. She turned out to be a master intelligence gather and covert operator, sneaking past enemy positions without raising any suspicions. She has nothing on, Snake, though. He had obviously intended to emulate Solid Snake, back when this was just a game, and he has the stealth skills to go with the persona, even if, personality-wise, he's nothing like that character. Snake is an affable Canadian player with a slightly out-of-place blonde mullet and an easy smile, but when he puts his mind to it, he's damn near undetectable. He's also very skilled at hand-to-hand combat.

"Any idea who these guys are?" I ask Argo. "Japanese, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah," she says, as we head out of the hollow and down the hill to where the rest of Paramour are waiting. She's a short girl, presumably in her late teens, and kind of cute, with dark green war paint on her cheeks drawn to look like rat whiskers. "Their leader is a guy called HaruYen. They've already seen some combat, and they came with a drone. If we integrate them into our comms network, we can spot enemy soldiers as they show, give Anubis somebody to shoot at."

"HaruYen? You're sure that's his name?" I ask her.

"Yes."

"Seems like a nice guy," Snake says, as he lights up I cigarette. Just as the Nerve Gear can simulate all of our other senses, it can simulate the effect of a cigarette by stimulating the correct areas of the brain. Fuck, but I could do with one right now. Snake notices me eyeing his cigarette, and smiles, holding out the packet. I take one, and let him light it.

"Thanks," I say, nodding.

"Anytime."

"So, these guys… Youkai's Breath. How are they doing?"

"They looked a bit rough, but angry about it," says Argo. "They've had to fight to get here, and seem to want to storm the base. They look at least somewhat disciplined, though." She smiles at me. "I'd recommend putting their drone operator with Anubis Company, and let them join us, Norse and Fuurinkazan in storming the buildings."

I take a drag of the cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke, the Nerve Gear stimulating my neurones. It's a beautiful morning; we've been fighting for two hours now, and the sun is beginning to rise above the hills, burning away the stunningly rendered dew. We've been lucky so far. The other Companies here have learned the same lessons as us, and also have some serving or former ex-military personnel among their ranks. Argo and Snake are the only beta testers to join us as of yet, although their experience and tutelage has been invaluable.

I'm glad that HaruYen and his friends have made an appearance. I had thought that, maybe the deaths of their friends had cowed them, that they would stay in the Starting City, where it was safe. Obviously, I was wrong, and we have four good soldiers on our side- plus a drone.

"So long as they can fight and follow orders, they're welcome to join us," says HotChipotle.

"Oh, they can fight alright," I say. "Don't you worry."

"You know these guys, boss?" asks the other Marine, as we descend into the shadows cast by the hill and light woodland.

"I fought with these guys on day one," I say. "They lost two guys, but they fought well. If they're as ready as Argo says, we're lucky to have them." I take another drag and then exhale. "They also have a drone."

"Why don't more people have those?" asks HotChipotle, as we pass through the gate into the base.

"Lack of foreward planning, I think," says Snake. "Everyone was too focused on rushing out to kill Militia. I think some of the beta testers might have bought a few, though. They were pretty useful. Life savers."

We approach the forward positions. Players, members of Paragon, Norse and Fuurinkazan, Klein's team, are spread out behind the walls and gabions, weapons aimed at the buildings. As we approach, Kurona comes towards us, keeping low. Occasionally, gunfire comes from the buildings, to be answered by the players in the base and the ten-strong Anubis Company up on the hillside. Then it stops, and silence reigns again, except for occasional flurries of gunfire from the east, as Mongoose Company continues to engage the remaining Militia of the decimated last patrol. Kurona comes to a halt in front of us and salutes casually. I return the salute quickly; and don't like the formalities. For one thing, I'm not a soldier, and Kurona is- and a sergeant, at that.

"Lawman. The newcomers are just over here," he says, motioning towards one of the bullet-scarred walls. Four players stand there talking to Kim and one of the Marines. Their clothing and weapons are familiar, even if their faces have changed, as per Kayaba's parting gift. I pick out HaruYen by his grey digital camouflage uniform and his M4A1, and stride over, thanking Kurona.

"HaruYen. It's good to see you, brother," I say. HaruYen turns towards me. He is confused for a moment, until he recognises me- by my uniform or equipment, or the fact that my real features are similar to those of the avatar I wore when we first met.

"Who- holy shit. Lawman! What the hell are you doing here, of all places, man?" he asks, breaking into a grin and spreading his arms. Behind him, his friends smile and wave.

"Lawman!"

"My man! How's it going?"

"I'm glad you guys are here," I say, taking my cigarette in one hand and clasping HaruYen's forearm with my other. "Look, man, I'm sorry about Rory and AMO. If we'd known at the time…"

"Don't worry about it, man, we didn't know. Now are goal is to kill everyone of these mother fuckers and get out of this fucking death game," HaruYen says firmly. His real facial features look nothing like those of his former avatar, and he does not share the same build or height. However, he is not an unattractive person, and he has an average build. He has also kept the goatee. The only real shock amongst the team is Manato who, despite her masculine name, is actually female, and fairly attractive at that.

"We don't want to kill all of them," Argo says, stepping in. "You'd be surprised at what you can get out of them if you apply the right pressure." She smiles, offering him her hand. "Argo."

"HaruYen," he says, smiling back at her as they shake hands. "And this is my team. That's Manato, 24, and Akurn. So, Lawman." He turns back to me. "Where's your friend? What's his name again…"

"Reid," I sigh. "I have no idea. He ran off as soon as Kayaba finished his speech; last I heard, he was headed to Orinora."

HaruYen frowned. "Man, I'm sorry. I thought you guys were tight."

"We are," I say, searching for words. "It's just… I honestly have no idea what goes through his head half the time. I think he just freaked out. He's not dead, though, he still appears in my contact last."

"Shit," HaruYen says.

"Don't worry about it," I say. Another short exchange of gunfire interrupts us; the Milita are still resisting. I continue, "Did you guys run into trouble on your way here?"

"Just one patrol," HaruYen says. "What about you? How'd you get here, and can I assume you're in command here?"

"I'm just in command of Paramour Company. We were targeting patrols and ran into Klein and his boys. That's Fuurinkazan, over there," I say. "That's when we linked up with Norse, Mongoose and Anubis Companies."

"Have you taken any casualties?"

"Five. The Militia have lost about 30 men, though, not counting the failed QRF."

HaruYen nods. "Not bad. Where do you want us, Lawman?"

"You, Akurn and 24 can go in with the main assault force," I say. If it's okay with you, Manato can join Anubis Company on the hillside and use the drone to provide overwatch. We go in in twenty minutes."

"That's okay by me," HaruYen said, before turning to his friends. As they nod in agreement, HaruYen turns back to me. "And by them. Where do you want us?"

"You, 24 and Akurn can stick with me," I say, before turning to the other Marine, a guy named EagleWizard, referred to by the other American players as simply Wizard. To be fair, the guy was pretty good with a sniper rifle. " Wizard, take Manato up to Anubis. You can provide us with sniper cover if you wish, or come back down here and join us if you wish."

"I'll stick with her boss," Wizard says. "I can give you targets from there."

"Good man," I say, as he beckons to Manato to follow him. To HaruYen, I say, "You're welcome to join Paramour, if you like, or you can remain as Youkai's Breath. What does that name mean, anyway? It doesn't translate properly."

"Youkai are creature's of Japanese mythology, kind of like faeries," HaruYen replies. He turns to his team. "What do you think, guys?"

"Safety in numbers, right?" says Akurn.

"No good reason not to," agrees 24. "I liked it when it was just us, but we're venerable. Especially after… well, you know. I say we join Paramour."

"Well, that's settled," HaruYen says, turning back to me. "I'll clear it with Manato, but I think we're all good."

I lead them to an area of our lines with fewer players, attaching them to Supreme Leader Kim :)'s squad. I hunker down behind a HESCO barrier with HaruYen, HotChipotle, Snake and Argo, checking the timer in my HUD: fourteen minutes until we start the assault. I turn to HaruYen.

"I trust you didn't run into too much trouble on the road?" I ask him.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," he says, shaking his head. "Though 24 got tagged in the arm by a low-calibre round. It's a good thing the medic system in this game is simplified, otherwise he would have probably bled out on the road."

"Is he okay to fight?" I ask him.

"Yeah, he's good now, though it'll be a few more days before it fully heals. He'll be hanging back to cover us while we go in, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure, duck." I peek over the top of the HESCO; the snap of a bullet and crack of a rifle shot forces me to duck down behind cover. I come back up with the FAL aimed, and fire off a few shots, as do a number of other players around me, HaruYen included. Dust cascades from the faces of the buildings, before things fall silent again. As I lower myself below the rim of the HESCO, taking a knee, I turn back to HaruYen.

"So. Manato."

"Yeah," he chuckles.

"I confess, I didn't see that coming."

"It was for the best," he says. "She chose a male avatar because she didn't want to have to put up with creeps pestering her for her number, or calling her a fem- femin-"

"A feminist?"

"A Feminazi," 24 corrects me. HaruYen grimaces.

"Yeah, that- whenever she tells them to fuck off. I love gaming, but man, it's still mostly guys that play these games, even after four-odd decades. Online communities can get pretty toxic, and female players can catch all sorts of flack from shitty little teenagers with big mouths and creeps with hacking skills, so she decided to choose a male avatar for this. I mean, even now women get treated with different levels of respect, and different expectations, you know? We've done this sort of thing before, and she usually gets treated with the normal level of respect when she sets her avatar and voice modulation to male."

"I get that." I do. "You guys feminists as well?"

"Yeah," HaruYen says, nodding.

"And proud of it," says Akurn. I smile.

"You'd probably get along with Reid," I say. "Calls himself an Egalitarian. He always says, to judge people by their actions, and treat everyone equally."

"This from the guy that ditched you in the Starting City?" says 24.

"Reserve your judgement," I say. He may be a weird loner, but he's my best friend. I guess I'm just protective.

"Words to live by, I guess," says HaruYen.

"It cuts both ways, though," I explain. "He likes to say that if you judge people by their actions, then you have to apply punishment equally. He hates misogynists, and he'll tell them to fuck off if they mouth off, but the same applies to misandrists. And if someone attacks him physically, he'll drop them, no matter whether they're a man or a woman. This one time, this really bratty girl tried to slap him for something. It was a misunderstanding, but I don't think he knew that. When she tried to hit him, he put her in an arm lock and forced her to the ground."

"Really?" asked HaruYen. "That seems a bit extreme."

"He did the same to this yob that tried to mug him one time," I continue. "He really doesn't care about gender."

"Now that's true equality," Snake says, from where he sits behind the next HESCO along.

"Exactly," I say. "Doesn't matter who you are, everyone gets shit. His words."

"I like this guy," says Akurn, smiling. "You know, besides the whole ditching-you thing."

"Yeah," I say. There are a few female players in the assembled Companies, Argo and Kim's girlfriend, Su-Mi, included, but together they make up less than 10% of our numbers. HaruYen and his boys are right; despite it being the mid-21st century, chauvinism and sexual discrimination, embarrassing anachronisms of the pre-20th century, still exist. They are still present even on the internet, where anonymity afforded by the system prompts people to act out the worst of themselves. There have been no problems between the male and female members of the Companies yet- at least, none that have been reported- but it's only a matter of time. Enforcing Reid's ethics of equality and egalitarianism might not be such a bad idea. I turn to Argo.

"Argo?"

"Hm?" she turns towards me, but I can tell she's been listening. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, and her expression is kept carefully impassive.

"These guys raise a serious point. Sexual harassment could become a problem in the future."

"It already has, in Mongoose," she replies.

"Shit. Can you do something for me?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asks.

"Keep an ear to the ground, see if any more sexual harassment takes place. And verify any claims, I don't want to be bothered by any false accusations. HaruYen's right, internet communities can be…"

"Embarrassingly sexist?" she suggests, the corner of the mouth twitching upwards.

"Well put," I say. "I want to make sure that we don't have these problems, and intend to follow my mate's example."

"I can do that," she says.

"Good thinking," Snake says. "Things were… reasonable, during the beta, but that was a smaller group, easier to achieve notoriety. Here, there's- what, almost a 100,000 players? That's a lot of people. Not all of them are going to be nice."

"Nothing wrong with taking precautions," I say.

The conversation dies down again. Ten minutes pass, during which brief exchanges of gunfire occur three more times. At eight minutes to go time, Anubis finally confirms the complete elimination of the enemy's relief force. Eventually it is time to go in. I address the other Company leaders over our separate band. We could have put everybody on the same coms network, but that was awkward and confusing within an hour of its instigation. Now we have one channel for Company leaders, and separate intra-Company coms for the individual Companies. However, other Companies can communicate with each other directly over our primitive battle network if necessary.

"Okay, guys, Paramour, Fuurinkazan and Norse are moving in in one minute. Anubis, can we count on your overwatch?"

"Of course," replies their commander, a Scot with the handle The_Cairn, usually referred to simply as Cairn. It's possible that he's former British Army, but he isn't exactly talkative. He has his men locked down tight, though. "Anyone tries to poke their heads up, we'll take the fuckers out."

"Okay. Mongoose?"

"We have the approaches locked down," says their commander, a South African called Brink. "No one on the horizon."

"Copy that. Norse? Klein?"

"We're ready," replies Klein.

"My boys are all set. The LAW's prepped, ready to fire on your go," says Norse Company's commander, a wiry African-American with the handle of N0RR1$_81, referred to as Norris by pretty much everyone. The other Companies contain fewer members than Paramour, now that HaruYen and his friends have joined our ranks. The largest behind us is Mongoose, with fourteen players; the next largest is Norse, with eleven men, then Anubis, with ten, and finally Fuurinkazan, with six men, Klein included. Whilst there are some military men in the other Companies, Paramour has the highest concentration, along with the patronage of two beta testers. Our combat experience and resources after hitting the outposts and convoy mean that we are currently the dominant Company in the attack, so they take their lead from us. I suppose I should be thankful that these Companies are comprised mostly of reasonable people. I gather myself, and contact Klein Norris.

"Klein, Kurona, up here with me, we'll be coordinating. Norris, have your man come up to the front. Kurona, have your boys with the RPGs come up our way. It's time to blow this thing."

"Roger," says Kurona. One of Norris' men comes to the front with an M72 Light Anti-tank Weapon. Klein and two of his people, Harry One and Dynamm, come over to my cover. Klein slaps me on the arm as he slides into position against the HESCO barrier, holding his AK74M ready.

"Got your back, Lawman," he says.

"Okay." This time, I address every player in the war band directly on the general band. "This is the last stretch, ladies and gents," I say. "Our aims are to recover any caches of equipment or intel, hopefully catch a few officers for interrogation or, failing that, storm those buildings and _kill everyone_. If you have any questions, well, that's just tough, you should have asked them already. I take it that we're all ready to go and that there are no questions?" I pause for several seconds, but no one speaks. I take my helmet from where I have it clipped to my belt and don it. "Okay. Go time, people."

Norse's man with the M72 LAW, and my guys with the RPGs, check their back blast, raise themselves out of cover, take aim at their respective building entrances, and fire. Three explosions echo over the hills; before the sounds die down, players with grenade launchers- attached to their weapons or standalone models- begin to barrage the buildings, throwing smoke, flames, dust and debris into the air. The players with machine guns in Paramour, Norse and Fuurinkazan get to work on suppressing any firing positions in the buildings. Paramour's RPG carriers reload, whilst Norse's man with the LAW tosses the one-shot weapon away. With the bulk of the three Companies behind them and Anubis and Wizard on the hillside providing precision cover fire, the advance teams- including myself, Klein and his guys, HaruYen and Akurn, and Argo and Snake- begin to advance on the buildings, sticking to cover where we can, rushing across open spaces where we can't. I see a muzzle flash in one of the windows, dropping one of Norse's men as he rushes from a gabion to the bullet-ridden corpse of a Tigr; I call for a medic, and return fire with the FAL. The weapon kicks in my hand, and has greater recoil than the SIG. The incoming fire stops, and I rush out, myself and another Norse player dragging the wounded man into cover. The Norse player tends to his comrade as I push forwards with the others.

The suppressive fire halts as we reach the buildings, stacking up on the ruined entrances. I switch from my FAL, less useful in enclosed environments due to its length and recoil, to my SIG, collapsing the stock in preparation for CQB. Grenades- frags and flashbangs- go in through the entrances and shattered windows. They detonate, and we rush in after them. Injured men stumble through the rooms and hallways, deaf and blind, and we drop them all. Some fall to undisciplined sprays, some to slightly more accurate bursts, and others to precise shots. Argo and Snake clear a room by themselves; Argo drops several men from the doorway with her MP7, whilst snake drops two with the remaining bullets in the magazine of his custom AR15. When the slide locks back, he slides across the room, keeping low as he draws his SW M&P handgun, dropping two more targets until the last comes out of cover right next to him, taking him by surprise. He reacts quickly as Argo clears the rest of the room; a few fluid and precise movements send the Milita man crashing to the ground, where he dispatches the Militia with a swift double-tap to the head.

I carry on through the building. Resistance is light; most are dead or dying, but the upper floor needs clearing. I ascend the stairs behind HotChipotle, followed by Klein and his boys, HaruYen and Akurn following behind. We sweep through the hallway, kicking in the doors and gunning down Militia me. The SIG judders in my hands; I fire single shots, only switching to automatic when necessary. I pass the corpses of numerous men; it may be virtual reality, but the sight of them is shocking in its realism, in the visceral detail. A burst of gunfire tears through the last doorway, hitting HotChipotle in the leg and armour. He drops, and Klein, Dynamm and I riddle the doorway- and the room beyond- with bullets. As Akurn drags HotChipotle away, we stack up on the doorway, and preface our entry with a flashbang. It detonates, and we move in. I sight and drop a target, Klein and Harry One doing the same. The last man leaps up from his hiding place behind an overturned desk, firing an inaccurate burst from a modernised AK, and we riddle him with bullets. His corpse drops back down; we round the desk and double tap the body in the head. We do the same to the others, and then stop.

Compared to moments ago, there are only intermittent bursts of gunfire. I check with Norse, Fuurinkazan and the rest of Paramour; all target buildings are almost clear. Moments later come reports of the remaining Militia surrendering. Not fighting to the last man- which no one has talked about, but just sort of expected, as we would expect of any other computer game's NPC enemies. Surrendering. Laying down their weapons, shouting that they surrender, laying down away from their weapons with their hands behind their heads and even waving white fucking handkerchiefs.

The feeling of falling down a rabbit hole deepens.

Calls of "clear" echo through the building and across the hilltop. I stop by Klein; the other man is breathing heavily, an automatic reflex after what his brain perceives as heavy exercise and frantic combat. I slap him on the shoulder, grinning.

"We fucking did it," I say. He laughs, reloading his AK74M, and slaps me on the back.

"Yeah, man," he replies. "You know, I honestly wasn't sure that would work. I was fucking terrified!"

"I know how you feel," I say. "I wouldn't be surprised if I shit myself IRL."

"I really hope we're all in hospital by now," he says. His two men and HaruYen join us. As they continue talking, I work my way through the roster, asking squad leaders to confirm their status. Only minor wounds are reported, with the exception of a Japanese player that took a rifle round to the torso. His armour saved his life, but he's out of action. I get to HotChipotle.

"Chipotle," I say. "Are you still alive? If you are, I'd like a sitrep."

"I'm going to be fine, Lawman. I'll just need to take it easy for a few days," he responds. "And my guys are okay. Just minor cuts, nothing worth wasting medical supplies on. If this were IRL, though…"

"We'd be even more fucked than we already are," I say, finishing the sentence.

"Then let's thank god for small mercies."

"Amen, brother," I say, before contacting the other Company leaders. Anubis and Mongoose have no casualties, besides the men lost earlier in the assault and the one man lost by Mongoose during the ambush of the returning patrol. The rest of Klein's guys outside are still alive, and Norse lost one man, with one other- the man I had helped to drag into cover- injured. I take a moment to gather myself amidst the dust and blood, and then proceed to make my way downstairs.

"Lawman, it's Argo. We need you outside in the courtyard," the beta tester tells me over the link.

"What's up?"

"We have some prisoners, and some decisions to make."

"I'll be there in a jiffy," I say.

"What the fuck is a Jiffy?" she asks, confused.

"Doesn't matter, I'm on my way," I say. Fucking translation software. Maybe one of these days I'll actually just learn Japanese.

I step outside into the morning sun. I look up into the sky; a few cloud banks are present, and I can see Manato's drone hovering fifty metres up, scanning the surrounding landscape. On the hilltop to the north, the light at the top of the relay tower has changed from red to blue. Fort Sienna is now officially under player control.

I make my way into the courtyard, SIG still held ready. I switch the magazine for a fresh one and unfold the stock. If there need to be any executions, that will be my task.

The courtyard is not crowded, but a number of players have gathered there. Some guard five men in bloodied Militia uniforms kneeling on the ground, weapons aimed at the beaten men. Their hands are unbound, but none of them appear to show any sign of resistance. Argo and Snake are stood conversing with Norris and Kurona.

"Argo," I call. "What do we have?"

She and the others turn to face me as she replies. "Five Militia, two of which appear to be officers. Those two, at the end." She points out two men at the end of the row. Whilst the others are bare-headed, these wear blue berets, like the officer leaning against the Tigr that I saw on day one. I idly wonder what rank that NPC had been. One of the officers here is slight and bespectled, with no holster at his hip- a non-combatant, probably just staff. The other is older, with a thick build and grey hair and a moustache. I come to a halt in front of them, Argo and the others coming to my side.

"What's the problem?" I ask her.

"Those three are just grunts. Locals. If we take them into custody, hand them over to NPC civilian authorities, we get kudos with the local civvies, which makes occupying the region easier."

"What region is this again?" I ask.

"The Isle of Mullira," Snake answers.

"Okay, so we don't kill the guys who would ordinarily shoot us on sight."

"Ostensibly," Argo says.

"Ostensibly," I repeat. "Still seems kind of unfair. And the officers?"

"The beanpole is a junior staffer, probably this other guy's aide," Argo says, pointing at the bespectacled NPC. She may be short and cute, and occasionally quite nice, but her cold delivery tells me that she has already accepted our situation, unlike the many men and women still waiting in Orinora. We'll need to do something about that. She continues speaking.

"This one," she points at the thicker, older-appearing NPC, "Is the officer in charge of this base. As an officer, he will have access to intel on enemy positions and troop movements in this area."

"And as a Militia member," Snake says, "He'll be easier to break than an NPC from the regular Army."

"You've talked about interrogation," I say. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"You might not like the answer," says Argo. "But remember; these are just NPCs. Programs. Not people. They don't feel pain." Is it my imagination, or did the NPCs tense up at that sentence? Argo continues, "And besides, what is the fake torture of a couple of programs compared to the freedom of 100,000 people?"

"Less by now, but you get the picture," says Snake, stepping forward, another cigarette between his lips, his expression that of slight distaste. "It's distasteful, but the intel they can provide might be the difference between successfully clearing this island of hostiles and being driven back to the Starting City. Everything we've fought for will be for nothing, everyone we've lost so far will have been lost in vain. Interrogating this man- no, this _program_ could allow us to successfully bypass or even ambush enemy positions or patrols. It could save the lives of our people."

"I know what I would do," says Argo. "What would you do?" she turns to me expectantly. I sigh, and turn to Kurona and Norris.

"Any thoughts?" I ask them.

"I can't condone this," Kurona says, shaking his head. "It's a slippery slope to barbarism, Lawman."

"I say we do it," says Norris. "We've lost six men today. It could be ten tomorrow, a hundred the day after if we don't know what we're walking into. We need to do everything we can to prevent more losses. Our supply of soldiers ain't infinite, man. And besides, these guys are right. They're NPCs. Programs. Good programs, sure, but not people."

"Do it," I say. "We can't afford not to."

"We won't enjoy this," Snake assures us, as Argo walks over to the officer and hauls him up, keeping him in front of her and her MP7- now with the foregrip folded and the stock collapsed- aimed at his back.

"You'd better not," I say to Snake. The other man nods gravely, and follows Argo as she guides the officer into one of the buildings.

"You," I say, pointing to one of the Japanese Paramour members. "You and another man from your squad are to follow Argo and Snake and provide security and assistance for them." The player nods, and he and one of his mates follow the beta testers. I turn to Kurona. "Sergeant, follow them. Make sure Argo and Snake don't go overboard."

"Copy that," Kurona says, and follows the others. I turn to the men guarding the prisoners.

"Get these guys locked up and keep them under secure guard. I want them kept alive; no reprisals, or anything like that."

"Yes, Lawman," says one of the players. "There're some holding cells in one of the buildings. We can keep them there."

"Good man," I say, nodding. "Everyone else: we need to split into teams. My guys will inventory the buildings and the rest of the base for usable gear. Norris, can your guys provide security?"

"Will do," Norris replies, directing his men to take up positions at the perimeter of the base.

"Okay. We need an aid station set up, stat," I say. As players rush to carry out my orders, I decide to join Argo and Snake in their interrogation. I'd like to hear what the NPC officer has to say.

As I reach the room in which the interrogation is taking place, I am surprised to find Snake stood outside, checking something on his menu.

"Argo starting without you?" I ask, frowning.

"We got a message from another beta tester," Snake says, looking up. He offers me another cigarette. "Want one?"

"Sure," I say, taking one from the pack. I let him light it, and take a drag. "What's going on?"

"Message from another beta tester. British guy, called Amir. One of the best," Snake says. "Orinora is ours, minimal casualties sustained… in direct contrast to some of the amateur assaults by disorganised players on other Militia strongholds in western Mullira. Only a small number of players were lost, including one beta tester, which is a shame… but that guy was always kind of a prick, anyway. Although, according to Amir, he seemed to have become a bit more of a team player…"

"So, still a shame, then."

"Yes."

"Any mention of a guy called Reid Collins?"

"That friend of yours? No. But that doesn't mean really anything, this is just a quick report." Snake closes his menu. "That's the first milestone passed, Lawman. Orinora is now the eastern most point of our lines. I'm not saying things are going to get easier from here." He chuckles. "Because they won't. But this is the first hurdle, and we've jumped it. The rest of Aincrad is open to us now."

"Feels good, man," I say, taking another drag.

"It should," Snake says, nodding. "It's only going to get harder, at least for now, but it's definitely doable. Between Fort Sienna, Orinora and a few other smaller bases taken by other players, we're making progress. I hear a team took Fort Ochre, near the southern coast, but at cost. Back in the beta, that was a major supply depot." He grasps my shoulder briefly, smiling warmly. "We can do this, Lawman."

"Yeah," I say. I look towards the door. "Speaking of progress."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, leading me into the room. "This won't be pleasant… but neither's loosing good soldiers."

"Let's just get to work," I say as I enter.


	7. Chapter 7

_This is the end of part one. Part 2 will come at some point in the future when it is written and if there is sufficient deman. Please enjoy, as always._

Chapter 7- Part 1 Epilogue

Amir Hassan

AKA Amir

At an outside table of a café in the town square of Orinora, Harvard and Amir sat drinking cups of coffee and tea, respectively. It was midday, and Agil had finally persuaded them to take a break, leaving the organisation of the players in the town in his capable hands. Neither man knew what Agil had done in the real world, but he had taken to the task well. His authoritative tone and undeniable charisma helped in getting the other players to listen and follow orders.

A team was currently going over the captured vehicles and equipment. Most of the personal gear and weaponry lifted from the corpses of the Militia was older stuff and of lower quality, but every little would help. The trucks were a boon, as were the helicopters and remaining BMP; they would need to train crews for them, and soon. The local NPCs were proving helpful, though the collateral damage of the night assault meant that they were a little reserved. Bringing down the church might not have been the best idea; they appeared to have programmed with enough sophistication that they reacted negatively to attacks on their holy sites.

Amir was going through his messages, sipping his tea as he did so. All were from other beta testers, giving status reports from wherever they were. Most were the same: players were panicking in the Starting City, although things were beginning to calm. Some groups of players had apparently thrown logic to the wind and attempted to run blitzkrieg operations on enemy positions; most were dead already. A large force of 200+ players were charging east; another message revealed that the force had split, with one group making for Orinora whilst the other intended to spearhead straight into the territories east of the town.

Other messages gave him hope, though. Successful raids had been conducted on numerous convoys and outposts, and several forts had already fallen, including Forts Ochre and Sienna. Ochre, he remembered, was a major Militia depot, but heavily defended; it was not used as a base for patrols, but to supply the surrounding Militia fortifications. Given the choice, that was the first place that they would have attacked, but things had been too chaotic, and he had been swept along with Harvard and the squad that he had gathered to him. The attack on Ochre had been successful, but at the cost of more than half of the assault force; a pyrrhic victory, then. One beta tester was among the dead: an American named Johen21. Amir tried to place him, but drew a blank. There had been 1000 beta testers initially; he hadn't known them all.

In contrast to the tragic victory at Fort Ochre, the attack on Fort Sienna had been a resounding success, compared to almost every other engagement undertaken by the players bar Orinora. When he saw who had been involved, he was no longer surprised. The report had been sent by Snake, who had been heading east from the Starting City with Argo, when he had heard from them last. He knew them both; their intelligence-gathering abilities had been unmatched during the beta, and he was certain that Snake had seen combat IRL- not that the affable Canadian had ever talked about it. Argo wasn't so combat-oriented, but could hold her own. Her skill lay in infiltration, and various methods of gathering intelligence. From the report, she and Snake had gone in before the rest of the gathered players, gathering intel on enemy positions and armaments; when the assembled players had attacked that morning, they had known exactly where to hit the Militia defenders.

There had only been around 60 men left in a base designed to accommodate a maximum of 200 soldiers; the others had been killed during raids on patrols based out of Sienna, with the exception of one light patrol of two Tigrs and one Ural off-road truck. Within the first half hour of the attack, 50% of the militia in the base were dead with the rest fortified in a group of buildings. The last patrol was ambushed outside the base and successfully destroyed. Finally, the buildings were stormed and the remaining 30 men were killed. Not including the patrols destroyed prior to the attack, total enemy losses were approximately 80, including the Militia in the returning patrol. The players, on the other hand, had lost six men: four in the initial assault, one during the engagement with the returning patrol and one during the storming of the buildings. 5 Militia had been taken captive, one of which was an officer, which at the time that the message was sent was being interrogated by Argo, Snake and the leader of the largest Company involved in the attack. Overall, the assault on Fort Sienna had been a resounding success, second only to the capture of Orinora. This would all need recording, he knew. History was there to be learned from.

Snake's report also included an appraisal of the Companies involved in the attack. All had shown ability and a willingness to follow orders; the stand-out Companies had been the smallest, a team of Japanese players calling themselves Fuurinkazan, and the largest, an assortment of Japanese, Americans, and Koreans led by an Englishman. The Englishman in particular, a teenager named Lawman, stood out, having coordinated the assault with the aid of a number of serving and ex-military personnel in his Company as well as Argo and Snake, and dispatching numerous Militia personally. Amir wondered who this young Englishman was; he might prove a valuable ally and leader in the war to come.

Speaking of Companies, it might be a good idea to consolidate authority over the players in Orinora. Their command structure during the assault had consisted of tangled lines of communication between small squads, reducing their efficiency. They would be better served by combining the oversight afforded by keeping all of their men and women in one Company and the fluid, free-form structure of a decentralised force.

In total, five relay towers were now under player control, extending their range of communications. Large stockpiles of weapons and materiel had been recovered, as had various vehicles. The Militia presence in proximity to the Starting City was now mostly eliminated, giving the almost 100,000 players (minus a few hundred to a thousand by now, most likely) in the Starting City some breathing space. Their next step was to hit the enemy supply lines and the nearest enemy bases before attacking the next occupied settlement, the port of Peartree to the northeast, on the coast.

In the islands and sub continents to the east of the main continent, the size of the landmasses, and their environments, varied. The archipelago was like a 3000km dogleg, starting north of the equator and dipping south before straightening and joining the main continent of Greyland. Greyland itself was mainly situated above the equator, with some desert poking south of the equatorial line. The northwest tip of the continent extended poleward far enough for the environment there to turn to taiga, though not to become tundra. The Isle of Mullira was located on latitude equivalent to, say, the south of England, though the actual biome resembled a subtle blend of the moors of Scotland on the hilltops with the general environment of southern Italy or the Mediterranean islands. At just shy of 70 kilometres long it wasn't the largest island, but between the rugged terrain and the Milita presence on the roads and in the villages and towns travel times were increased. It could take them weeks to secure Mullira.

"What have you got their, Amir?" asked Harvard. Amir looked up to find the American watching him steadily. Amir shrugged.

"Reports on other operations," he answered, closing the menu and taking another sip of tea.

"Reports?" Harvard asked, frowning. "Who from?"

"Other beta testers," Amir said. "Things could be going better, but they could certainly be going worse. Fort Ochre was taken with heavily casualties, but we have most of the materiel held there intact. Fort Sienna was taken with minimal losses, and a number of smaller bases are under our control. We also have confirmed control of five com relays, including the one here and those at Forts Ochre and Sienna. We have reinforcements headed our way, about 100 men, but I'm not sure how disciplined they will be. I think we lucked out with the guys we have here."

"With the exception of Diabel's men," Harvard mused. "Kibaou in particular."

"Whiney little shit," Amir growled.

"He lost his friends. I don't begrudge him his grieving," Harvard said. "But you're right. He's still an asshole."

"Here's hoping that dickhead and his posse get slotted by a Militia patrol," said Amir.

"I wouldn't go that far," Harvard said, though he was unable to supress a small grin. "But I have to admit, I wouldn't weep for those men if they were to perish in the wilderness."

"Too bad they were last seen heading back to Starting City. The area west of here is under player occupation, most of the Militia presence has been eliminated by now."

"True." Harvard sipped his coffee, before talking again. "These beta testers, the ones sending the reports. Are they organised?"

"Players can belong to more than one Company at a time. After Kayaba gave his speech, a number of us gathered together outside the Starting City and formed our own Company to function as a sort of communications network. The Company's called Betanet. It's mostly for communication and coordination between beta testers and whatever forces we find ourselves a part of. It's allowed us to keep track of the different Companies and war bands and their accomplishments. It's also allowed us to coordinate forces to a degree. It's how we got the numbers for the attack on Orinora."

"How many beta testers are here?" Harvard asked, leaning forwards and setting his mug down onto the table.

"Four, including me, that are part of Betanet. Diabel was the fifth, but he's dead. Still not sure how I feel about that. He used to be a bit of a wanker during the beta, but after Kayaba gave us the news, he got his shit together. His judgement of people was still shot to fuck, though, given that he brought that arse Kibaou and his mates."

"Quite," Harvard agreed.

"Besides the Betanet members, there were two others," Amir. "Including that Japanese kid that left."

"So, that leaves us with five experienced players." Harvard took another sip of coffee, thinking. "That Japanese kid… he killed the BMP, right?"

"Yeah."

"Who was he?" Harvard asked, as an NPC waitress brought them a plate of pastries. He thanked the NPC out of reflex- mama Hassan raised her children to be polite at all times- and took one of the pastries from the plate. He took a bite; it tasted good, but in a bland, indeterminate way. He knew that the game supported a culinary simulation system to end all culinary simulations, but no one in the beta had invested any time in that; the skill was never considered worth the effort. He set the pastry down on his plate.

"Kid's called Kirito," he said. "He didn't socialise much, but he was a good fighter… a warrior."

"Not a soldier?"

"Most of us weren't soldiers. About 50 of us were, though. Those guys have their own Company, but still joined Betanet. As I understand it, just over half of them joined with other players to make sure they didn't get themselves killed. The genral idea was to act like IRL Special Forces by integrating with the untrained players and bring them up to scratch. The rest have been sweeping east. They're currently inside enemy-occupied areas, so we have no coms with them."

"Interesting," mused Harvard. "We'll sort them out later. Going back to Kirito."

"He's a loner. He specialises in close quarters combat, which is why he was carrying a P90 and dual machetes. Good at improvising, and fucking vicious when he needs to be. So far, we've found one of his kills out in the fields, and another in the town that was slashed multiple times. He definitely has some martial arts training. Karate, maybe, and some kendo; during the beta, he took out three militia in close quarters with a fucking three-foot metal pole. He also had a hand in a number of high-profile victories, including the original battle for Orinora."

"Interesting," Harvard said. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask Asuna, that girl in his squad."

"Hm." Harvard took a bite from his own pastry. "And that other boy in his squad. Not that New Zealander's nephew. The other one, the English kid."

"Reid Collins. What about him?"

"What do you know about him?"

"Next to nothing," Amir admitted. "I don't think he's a beta tester; I certainly don't recognise him."

"What _do_ you know? For certain, at least. There has to be something."

Amir finished his pastry, thinking. He washed it down with some tea, finishing the mug. He poured some more from the teapot, added some milk and one teaspoon of sugar, and took a sip. It was good. He wondered if someone on ACAO's dev team was a tea lover, to have recreated this particular taste so faithfully.

"The old man, George, told me that Collins wasn't a soldier. Quite possibly he has no formal training. Despite this, he was… very pragmatic."

"I guessed that."

"No shit. I'd like to talk to him, see what he can do. He left not long after Kirito. According to the girl, Asuna, he kept his squad focused even after the loss of one member and the injuring of another. He also has at two confirmed kills, likely more than that from day one."

"One to keep an eye on," Harvard said. "His voice… he sounded like someone who can fight, without reserve. We need people like that."

"You'll make soldiers out of them yet," Amir said.

"Heh. And the rest of his squad?"

"They're at half strength. I'd recommend merging them with another."

"Why not just split them up?" Harvard asked.

"They wanted to stay together for now," Amir said.

"Kirito and Collins left to head east," Harvard said. "That South African of theirs was injured. Asuna has taken control of some of the squads. The old man has been organising patrols. What happened to his other nephew?"

"He left with Koobus and his men," said Amir. "He seemed pretty shaken up. Wouldn't listen to George or Asuna. I can't condone him leaving with the fucking hedgehog, but he'd just lost his brother. I'm not surprised he was acting so irrationally."

"I see." Harvard took another sip of coffee. "Keep an eye on them."

"Why are you so fixated on that one squad?" Amir wondered. "They did well, sure, but they lost a man to an ambush, one of them was injured, and frankly, other squads fared better, and obtained higher kill counts. These guys took out eight Militia and the BMP, sure, but they aren't special."

"I beg to differ. In one squad, they had one beta tester, a potential soldier, and two actual soldiers, both of which are veterans. Plus those two teenagers, but let's not talk about them. George and Asuna- that's their names, right?- both appear to do well in leadership roles, and George can help train our men, as can the South African, once he's back to fighting strength. I'd also like to see what Collins and Kirito can do. Everyone here has the potential to be a soldier, but these guys have the potential to be leaders, or heroes." He paused. "Maybe not Collins. Frankly, he doesn't seem like a people person, but Operators don't need to make friends."

"How many steps ahead of the bloody curve are you?" Amir wondered. "And what the hell do you do IRL? You said something about Law Enforcement, earlier."

"I like to be as far ahead of the curve as possible, and I can't tell you what I do for a living," Harvard said, deadpan. "Just know that I have combat experience, and that I know about people, what makes them tick. Heroes, both the conventional charismatic ones and the anti-heroes, make for great motivators. Sooner or later, morale will become a serious problem, more so than it is now. The players will need figureheads. If those figureheads are also competent at their jobs, then that's even better. Empty figureheads have no place here." He sipped some more coffee. "We have things better here than IRL, for now. If this were a real-life campaign, there'd be all sorts of factors to consider, it would all just be too messy. Here, it's simple. There are almost 100,000 people who know that their freedom only has one condition, and they know that they need to cooperate to achieve that."

"That… sounds accurate," said Amir, wondering just who Harvard was to be so familiar with this sort of thing. "Have much experience with guerrilla warfare, do you?"

"That would be telling," Harvard said. He regarded Amir for a moment, before setting his mug down and reclining in his chair. "Tell me, Amir. What sort of warfare do you think lies ahead of us?"

"Well. Guerrilla warfare, certainly. Things will start off asymmetric. The enemy will have all the firepower, at least at first. Sooner or later we'll receive equipment to match theirs. Until then, we're at a disadvantage, and a pretty major one at that. Unlike IRL insurgencies and guerrilla movements, we have clear win conditions; unlike them, our victory conditions can't be to simply not loose. We just don't have that capability. Until we start receiving equipment to engage in conventional, symmetrical warfare, we're going to have to use every dirty trick in the book and out. We'll also need to build support amongst the NPC locals, start recruiting our own Militias and later armies. There'll also be a few NPC nations whose allegiances we can gain. Essentially, we're the underdog, and unless we get our act together, and start acting as a coherent whole, we'll get absolutely curb stomped by the enemy AI. This isn't some shitty fantasy story where the plucky rebels blow up the Death Star and win the day. It'll be a grind, a long, hard slog right up until we reach The Terminus, kick down the Ruby Palace's front door and put a bullet in Alexa Copellius' virtual, non-sapient head."

"Wow," Harvard said, smirking. "You've given it some thought. Where did all that come from?"

"I'm a War Studies student, IRL. Well, I was. I literally just fucking graduated. I was going to become an intelligence analyst." He kicked one of the table legs, knocking over his mug of tea. "Fuck!"

"Has anyone ever told you that you swear a lot?" Harvard asked. Amir gave him the finger. Harvard smirked again, finished his coffee, and stood. "Okay, break's over. We have work to do."

"Anything in mind?"

"I want to see if we can contact the other groups, see if we can form a unified whole and get to work liberating this island. I also want to make sure the hundred or so players charging our way aren't complete idiots. And if possible, I'd like to get in contact with those soldier-beta testers, and see if we can work together. For now, I'll settle for taking inventory of captured Materiel and consolidating our position. You coming?"

"Fuck yes," Amir said, standing. "That was good fucking tea, but we won't get anywhere sitting around and having a cuppa. What's first on the agenda?"

"An awkward conversation with a fairly sophisticated AI town figurehead about collateral damage," Harvard said. "Should be fascinating."

"Not the word I'd use," Amir said. "For fuck's sake."

End Part 1

 _Part 2 coming soon…ish._


End file.
